The Parting Glass
by downtonabigail
Summary: The Parting Glass AU: Carson is Robert's valet, Hughes Cora's lady's maid and they have married, have a cottage and have a daughter named Aoife (pronounced: "eh'fa"). Carson is offered the position of butler at Downton, and Hughes Housekeeper, but Elsie is torn between the life she wants for herself and the life she wants for her daughter. Pre series, Rated M for SEXYTIMES.
1. Prologue

_Of all the money that e'er I had_

_I've spent it in good company_

_And all the harm that e'er I've done_

_Alas it was to none but me_

_And all I've done for want of wit_

_To memory now I can't recall_

_So fill to me the parting glass_

_Good night and joy be with you all_

_Of all the comrades that e'er I had_

_They are sorry for my going away_

_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had_

_They would wish me one more day to stay_

_But since it falls unto my lot_

_That I should rise and you should not_

_I'll gently rise and I'll softly call_

_Good night and joy be with you all_

_A man may drink and not be drunk_

_A man may fight and not be slain_

_A man may court a pretty girl_

_And perhaps be welcomed back again_

_But since it has so ought to be_

_By a time to rise and a time to fall_

_Come fill to me the parting glass_

_Good night and joy be with you all_

* * *

"_Charles, if we stay on you've to promise me one thing."_

_He turned to face her. She was sitting in bed, hands resting atop her stomach, which stretched forward with such ferocity that he couldn't fathom how they still had several more weeks before the baby would arrive. He let go of the doorknob, taking a few steps toward the bed. _

"_Alright," he said, his eyes softening. She sighed, letting her gaze fall from his. She lifted a hand from her stomach and ran it along the backside of her neck, which had begun to ache. _

"_The child must go to school. They won't go into service." _

_He held her gaze for a moment, careful not to let her see that he was hurt by her certainty — he detected, perhaps, a slight resentment. "Schooling I most certainly agree with but. . ." he licked his lips thoughtfully, "Why do you feel so vehement about service?" _

"_If I'm going to bring a bairn into this world, a world that's changing so fast Charles, they've got to be able to survive —" she exhaled a shuttered breath, "Long after we've gone and there's no one in the world to look after them." _

_He sighed, sitting down next to her on the bed. He carefully placed a hand on her stomach, "And you don't think they'd find that in a house like Downton? Didn't we?" _

_She offered him a small smile, "I suppose we did — but I don't know that there are any other houses like Downton." She placed her hand atop his. The baby kicked and they both looked up, catching each other's eye. They both looked wide-eyed at one another for a moment until finally, relieved and also quite tired, Elsie dissolved into a fit of giggles. She leaned forward, trying to catch her breath, and pressed her forehead to his. _

_He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. _

_She smelled faintly of sandalwood and honey. _


	2. Chapter 1

Yorkshire, 1900

"Aoife, love, rise 'n shine!" Elsie called over her shoulder — she stood at the sink, drying her hands on a dishcloth. Charles had already gone over to the big house to start his day, but Elsie lagged behind trying to rouse their six year-old daughter from sleep. On cold mornings like these, it was almost as though the bairn wanted to retreat back into Elsie's womb; the warmth of her cozy bed, with its down comforter and the crackling fireplace beside her, was far better than any life she could imagine outside of it. Tossing the dishrag aside, Elsie smoothed her skirt and headed out of the kitchen down the hallway, a chill in the air sending shivers up the back of her neck.

She opened the door to the child's bedroom and was greeted by a rush of hot, dry air. The fire had all but gone out, but the room was still warm. She could just make out Aoife's mop of red hair, which peeked above the blankets.

"Aoife," she whispered, her voice low as she approached the side of the bed. She pulled back the covers — to which the little girl responded with a resolute yank in the opposite direction.

"Don't start, young lady." Elsie said — but she was laughing. The little girl turned to face her, eyes still heavily lidded with sleep. She yawned and held her arms up and out, wordlessly in request of an embrace. Elsie sat down on the edge of the bed and reached down to lift the girl up into her arms, kissing her hair, which was still baby soft and a bright auburn, like Glenna's. Still half-asleep, Elsie hugged her tighter for a moment — the child's soft, milky breath against her neck. Aoife nestled closer into her bosom, both for comfort and, no doubt, warmth — which was quickly escaping from the room, as Elsie had failed to shut the door behind her when she came in.

"Ma, I don't want to get up." Aoife whispered — her burr slightly lilting like Elsie's, with just a hint of her father's crisp and refined dialect.

"You start your lessons at the big house today, jo." Elsie said, smoothing Aoife's hair back, "You best be excited for that."

Sighing, the child sunk down into the covers, her head burrowing in Elsie's lap. "Won't the girls be mean to me?"

"Oh, love, the ladies like you" she rubbed the child's back in soothing circles, "And besides, you aren't there on a _social call._"

Aoife didn't respond, just grasped Elsie's skirt and pulled it up against her cheek. Elsie clucked her tongue, lifting the girl into her arms. Aoife's cobalt eyes were moist — either leftover from sleep or impending tears.

"Mary doesn't mind you and you know that," Elsie said, sensing the source of her daughter's anxiety, "And you know Sybil thinks you a friend."

"Mary _doesn't_ like me!" Aoife cried, "I don't think Edith does neither - Mary don't even like her and she's her sister!"

Elsie rolled her eyes instinctually and quickly tried to hide it; for a child, Aoife already seemed to have a firm grasp on the Crawley girls' nuanced sisterhood.

"The Crawley's have been kind enough to let you be tutored with the girls, jo. Put aside any rows you might have with them and think only of your studies."

"Why?"

_Och_, Elsie thought, _such a question for this early in the mornin', lass!_

"Because, my love, your studies will help you when you are grown up — you'll be able to live wherever you want to live, do any job you please, have a family and all the bairns your heart desires," at this, she touched her finger sweetly to Aoife's nose. The girl giggled.

"What if I don't want any bairns!"

Elsie huffed, leaning in to tickle the girl, "Then you don't have to have any, love! But you do have to get up or we'll be late!" With that, she swooped down and grabbed the girl around the waste, playfully hoisting her up. Aoife squealed, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck, inhaling her familiar scent.


	3. Chapter 2

Charles Carson checked his pocket watch for the third time in so many minutes — he constantly worried that she would not arrive before Her Ladyship's bell rang. He wasn't sure why it concerned him so — she'd never been late, not even the day Aoife was born. He was particularly unbridled in his concerns knowing that their daughter was meant to begin her schooling today. His Lordship had been exceedingly generous; when Charles married Elsie, he'd arranged for them to have a cottage nearby. When Elsie had become pregnant, he had assured Carson that they would all be taken care of—their employment intact, so long as they wanted to remain at Downton. Not long after Aoife was born, Her Ladsyhip became pregnant with Lady Sybil, and Elsie found understanding in The Countess of Grantham — not that Carson ever inquired, but he could tell when Elsie would come back to the cottage late in the evening, glowing. He knew that, as His Lordship's valet, there were certain proclivities toward conversation with one's employer — even more so, he imagined, between a Lady and her Lady's Maid.

He stuffed his pocket watch back into his jacket, the chain snagging on his button. As he carefully unwound it, he heard Aoife's tiny voice pipe up in the doorway.

"Da!" She said, skipping toward him.

"Aoife, you're going to be late." He said, looking down at her. She smiled, begging him to be truly aggravated with her. Even at six, she already knew that as far as her father was concerned, she could do no wrong. "I hope you didn't give your mother a hard time this morning."

"No, Da." Aoife smiled. She turned back to Elsie, who was making her way into the kitchen — arms full of Her Ladyship's dresses, which Carson recognized from her mending the night before. "I got right up, didn't I?"

Elsie smiled, hefting the dresses up, lest they drag on the ground.

"You did — now you best get right upstairs."

Obeying her mother, she started to skip off toward the doorway when Carson called after her.

"Aoife Elspeth Carson!"

The girl turned, her blue eyes wide and bright. He knelt down, furrowing his brow.

"Could you spare a kiss?" He asked. Aoife grinned, running across the kitchen toward him. She leapt up onto his knee and kissed him on the cheek. He smiled, "I'm sure you'll do marvelously today. Be on your best behavior, you'll be with the young ladies."

"Charles," Elsie growled, her voice a warning — this was not a comparison that agreed with her.

"I will, Da." Aoife said. She pulled away and walked over to the table, onto which Elsie had finally set down the dresses she came in with. She held her arms up to Elsie, who smiled down at her. Kneeling down to her daughter's height, she licked her thumb and wiped a smidge of Aoife's face. Then, she gently kissed her cheek.

"Alright, love. Up you go."

Aoife hesitated a moment, then, mustering up her courage she hopped up the stairs. No sooner had she made it to the top step as a tinkling bell rang from across the room. Her Ladyship.

"Oh my, not even time enough for a cuppa." Elsie said, picking the dresses up again. She gave Carson a long look and turned to go up the stairs herself. He quickened his steps and made his way in front of her — blocking her off from the landing.

"You're always on me about tardiness, Charles." She laughed, "But whose to blame now?"

His mouth turned up in a wry smile, "Could you spare a kiss?"

She shook her head teasingly, "Mr. Carson, don't be daft — what would the maids say?"

Before he had a chance to retort, she raised herself up on her tiptoes and planted a firm kiss on his lips. As she pulled away, she smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkling.

"I've a wealth of kisses for you, a rún mo chroí*."

* * *

"And how is Aoife?" Cora said, looking at Elsie in the reflection of her vanity mirror. Pins between her teeth, Elsie's lips smiled around them at the thought of her daughter.

"Well, m'lady. Kind of you to ask."

Cora smirked, "Oh, Hughes. You know I think she's darling."

Plucking a pin from her mouth, Elsie lifted one of Cora's dark curls with it, smoothing it between her thumb and forefinger.

"And she's got her Da wrapped around her wee finger," she laughed, weaving Cora's tresses into intricate loops, which she pinned. "But I'd venture the young ladies know a thing or two about that. . ."

"Mary certainly does —" Cora laughed, "But I do think she quite misses the biscuit hand offs from Carson."

Elsie cocked her head, "Biscuits, m'lady?"

Cora turned to face her, "You never knew? Carson and Mary have had quite the operation going for as long as I can remember." She paused, reaching across the vanity for her earrings.

"Has quite the soft spot for Lady Mary, he does." Elsie said, taking the last of the hairpins from between her teeth. Cora lifted an earring to her ear and looked into the mirror.

"Hughes, I hope you don't find me terribly forward, but I wanted to give you fair warning." Clipping in her earring, she flicked her eyes up at Elsie in her reflection, "I do believe that Mary is a bit jealous of Aoife. I think she had rather come to think of Carson as . . .well, her friend."

"Oh, m'lady, Lady Mary needn't worry her pretty head — Mr. Carson'd go to the end of the world for her still — and he always would."

"I know, Hughes, but she's still very young. I'm not sure she's even grasped the fact that you and Carson are married."

Elsie knew she hadn't meant it in a derogatory manner, but somehow, it still stung. She must have winced because Cora's face became alert, her eyes softening in the mirror.

"Oh, Hughes — I'm terribly sorry I didn't mean for it to sound as though—"

"No, no, m'lady. It didn't sound any which way at all — I was only wondering how we could remedy the situation for Lady Mary. I wouldn't want her to go on believing that Mr. Carson doesn't care for her anymore."

"That wasn't quite what I'm worried about," Cora said. She stood and walked over to the window, "I'm more concerned about Aoife than Mary."

Elsie frowned, "How so, m'lady?"

Cora sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Mary can be — difficult. At times she's quite harsh on Edith, seemingly unprovoked." She flushed, "I daresay she has a bit of Robert's mama in her — but don't tell him I said that."

"My lips are sealed, m'lady." Elsie smirked.

"Good," she returned to her vanity and sat uneasily, "Hughes, I just worry that — well, if Mary were to say anything to Aoife, when she comes for her studies —" She held her breath a moment, trying to figure out how to proceed. Elsie found it equally uncomfortable — she felt as though some sort of professional barrier were about to be stepped over and she saw no way of stopping it. "Hughes, you'd tell me if Mary said something to hurt Aoife's feelings? You wouldn't — hide it from me?"

"I — well, m'lady, I don't think we'll have to worry—"

"I just don't want you to think I am asking you to put your propriety above motherhood." Cora said firmly, "You needn't ever discuss this where Robert could overhear you — or Carson for that matter," she smiled, shaking her head, "You know those two are thick as thieves."

Elsie nodded, "I appreciate your kindness, m'lady."

"I know it isn't customary for lady's maids to raise children while also tending to their employers, but I'd be lost without you, Hughes. I might be horrifically selfish but —" she worried her bottom lip, "I am willing to risk impropriety surrounding your position if it means that you can raise your daughter how you want to — I don't think I could live with myself if I knew that I were to be in the way of that."

They heard footfalls outside the door, and a moment later, Robert appeared. He was fully dressed and looked expectantly at Cora.

"Nearly ready, my darling?" He said, eyeing them discriminatorily.

"Yes, darling — Hughes was just helping me find a lost earring." She gave Elsie a knowing glance. Robert nodded to both of them and stepped out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Don't mention any of this to Carson," Cora said, rising from her vanity. She put her hand affectionately on Elsie's forearm, "And I say that for your benefit, Hughes, not my own."

* * *

**A/N: **You guys are so sweet - thank you for your lovely comments! I'm so happy you think Aoife is adorable and that Elsie would be a good mum - I think it's something that makes her so interesting to me in the series: she certainly could have been a wife a mother but she _went another way _and chose her career - which, you know, I think a lot of us do that in modern times and we still struggle with that choice - I don't know. Plus, you know . . .any excuse for gratuitous Chelsie.

* _a rún mo chroí _is basically a term of endearment for lovers, it's like saying "secret lover" or "lover of my heart" :)


	4. Chapter 3

_Under dim lamplight, Elsie squinted at the garment she was mending. It was one of Her Ladyship's favorite dresses, and she'd caught the hem on puckerbrush the previous afternoon. She held one end of the thread between her teeth and carefully poked the needle into the soft fabric. Sometimes when the Countess of Grantham had dresses that she no longer wanted, she would let Elsie have them. Not that Elsie ever had anywhere to wear such things. This dress though, a long and relatively simple powder-blue day dress would be nice. She would have to let it out in the bust, of course. She examined her work carefully — Her Ladyship would get a few more wears out of it at least with her handiwork._ _There was a dull rap on the door frame and she looked up. _

_Mr. Carson was standing there, bathed in lamplight. He held a tea tray in his hand and the scent of cinnamon sprinkled toast wafted across the room. She'd been working so long she'd missed the servant's dinner, and after she'd readied Her Ladyship for bed she'd come straight back to her work without so much as a biscuit to tide her over._

_"I thought perhaps you'd be hungry," Mr. Carson said, stepping into the sitting room, "You weren't at dinner."_

_Elsie sighed, "That's very thoughtful of you, Mr. Carson." She set the garment aside, careful not to wrinkle it, and folded the hem up into her lap. "Her Ladyship's torn her favorite gown, but I think I can mend it."_

_"I've no doubt," Mr. Carson smiled, reaching for the teapot. She watched as his hands — so large they dwarfed the teacups, giving them the appearance of children's playthings—delicately lifted the pot of tea and poured, ever so slowly, the sustenance she sought. She glanced up at his face. While his demeanor had been cheerful, there was something forlorn and worried about how he held his face: eyes frightfully darting from hand to hand, the lines deep around his mouth, his lips pressed tightly together. He painstakingly set the teapot down and accidentally clinked one of the saucers — it made him jump nearly from his seat._

_"Mr. Carson, are you alright?" She asked quietly, reaching across the small table to steady his shaking hand, "You look as though you've had a fright."_

_He cleared his throat, reaching into his breast pocket for his handkerchief, with which he wiped away the tiny beads of perspiration which had gathered at his temples, glistening in the soft light._ _"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Hughes." Folding up the the handkerchief and returning it neatly to his pocket, he sighed woefully. "There's something I'd like to tell you."_

_Elsie cocked her head, chuckling lightly. "Well, you'd best go ahead and spit it out before you require Her Ladyship's smelling salts!"_

_He swallowed hard and forced a tight grin. Resting his palms against his thighs, running them across the crisp fabric of his trousers, he sighed again._ _"Miss Hughes, His Lordship has offered me a cottage on the edge of the estate."_

_Elsie blinked, "Oh?"_ _"Yes — it's, quite nice. Small, but cozy I think. There's ample room for a vegetable garden and perhaps even a few flowerbeds." He stuttered, "If one. . .was so inclined."_

_"I see," Elsie said, but she did not. "Is it customary for a valet to have a cottage or — perhaps for you, giving consideration to your . . .family?"_

_Elsie spoke of Carson's parents who had retired long ago from Downton and, with his father's passing a few years back, were now both deceased. Carson had no other family, not that Elsie knew about anyhow, and she was certain that he hadn't come in to any kind of inheritance when his parents passed on. The only thing they left in his charge was Downton._

_"Well, in a way I suppose you could say that. Yes." He said, "That it's a decision made largely with family in mind."_

_Nodding, Elsie reached for her tea — no point standing on ceremony. "How exciting," she said, resting the teacup in her lap, "Am I to understand you'll be taking His Lordship up on his generous offer?"_ _Carson's breath hitched — the trill of her voice on the last syllable made him nearly tremble. He looked up at her, sitting there patiently across the table from him. In the gilded candlelight she looked almost regal; the subtle auburn hues of her dark hair gleaming and her face held in calm repose. She looked enchanting._

_"I was considering it yes," he began, "and I was wondering if, perhaps, you would consider accompanying me?"_

_Elsie guffawed, "Mr. Carson! I hardly think a Lady's Maid and a valet are allowed to cohabitate." She looked down at her tea, thinking he'd merely been joshing her, but as she brought the cup to her lips she saw that he looked almost wounded. Pausing, she looked over the rim at him. "What exactly is it that you're proposing, Mr. Carson?"_

_At the word, Carson felt giddiness rise in his chest. He reached out and carefully took the teacup from her. When he had both of her hands in his, he squeezed them gently. Her hands, though they worked endlessly, retained a feminine softness that thrilled him — just one feminine wile that held him captive._ _"He offered the cottage to us," Carson said, "If you would consider it."_

_"Mr Carson, I still don't understand — isn't it terribly improper for domestic staff to live together outside of," she inhaled, her voice rising, "…the estate?"_

_"Well yes, unless—" he said, laughing exasperatedly, "—unless they are married."_

_Elsie eye's widened, "Oh, Mr Carson . . ."_

_"You don't have to answer straight away—"_

_"Yes.__" she breathed, the word sweet on her lips._

_"Beg your pardon?"_

_"Yes, the cottage." Elsie sputtered, "I'll—I'll have the cottage with you. I'll marry you."_

_They held each other's gaze for a moment, both too overcome with so many years of unspoken emotions. _

_Slowly, he leaned over and kissed her sweetly; her lips petal-soft and tasting of cinnamon._

* * *

"You're awfully quiet, Aoife. Tuckered out from your first day?" Elsie said, ladeling soup into a bowl in front Charles. Mrs. Patmore always sent them home with something warm and delicious — the two women always joked that if not for her, the Carsons would have starved long ago.

"Lady Mary can read and I can't."

"Lady Mary is several years older than you, Aoife." Carson said, lifting a bread roll from the still-warm basket, "You'll learn."

"You read with your Da every night before bed," Elsie reminded her, taking her seat at the table.

"Da reads to me but - I don't know the words." Aoife said, stirring her soup.

"Isn't Lady Edith learning to read too?" Elsie said, "Surely Miss Roux will help you both get the hang of it."

Aoife spooned soup into her mouth, the warm broth dribbling down her chin. She moved to wipe it on the back of her hand but Charles tutted her.

"That's not very ladylike, Aoife." He said, passing her a napkin. Aoife blushed and took the napkin from him wordlessly.

"Charles," Elsie admonished quietly. He looked up at her from across the table, holding steady.

"There's no excuse for poor manners, Elsie." he said, setting his soup spoon down hard against the table, "If Aoife is going to be tutored alongside the young ladies she's certainly going to have to behave like one."

Elsie seethed quietly, her gaze heavy upon him. He stared straight back at her, tempting her to challenge him. She only broke eye contact with him when she felt Aoife's eyes on her. When she turned to face her daughter, she saw that the girl's bottom lip had begun to tremble.

"Oh, lass. Come now, finish your supper."

Aoife returned to her soup and Elsie flicked her gaze back to Charles, who shook his head disparagingly. Setting her spoon down calmly, Elsie left her soup untouched and pushed her chair away from the table. She gently brushed the top of Aoife's hair as she walked by her and out of the kitchen.

* * *

**A/N: **Angst, angst, angst! Thank you so much for reading, commenting, sharing on Tumblr - goodness, you guys are just the best! This is shaping up to be quite a story, I think - I'm a few chapters ahead so you should get regular updates from here on out.

I have no idea how long it'll be or where it's going to go . . .but so long as you're still interested, I'll keep writing! xx


	5. Chapter 4

_"I believe it is customary for the groom to carry his new bride over the threshold." Charles said, the two of them standing before the front gate of their cottage. Elsie threw her head back and laughed, looping her arm through his. Above them, the night sky was dark and all enveloping. There was just a slight nip in the air. He moved toward her- presumably to lift her up-and though she began to protest, he suddenly swooped her up into his arms._

_Pushing through the front door, he turned sideways so that she could survey their new space. The gas lamps were lit and glowing dimly in the corners of the room. While small, it was rustic and certainly cozy - the fire already lit and crackling across the room. She cooed approvingly, and the sound rose up into the rafters. He gently bent to set her down, but took her hand and stepped into the room with her, pulling the front door to._

_"Welcome home, then." She said softly, turning to him. He smiled down at her, somewhat in disbelief. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, and together they stood there a moment in the dark, shrouded in their shared reverie. The quiet was broken by Charles' stifled yawn._

_"Time for bed?" Elsie said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. There, she let her hand rest for a moment, her eyes falling. This night, this very moment, they had not been yet able to speak of - yet, they were desperate for it._

_He picked up a gas lamp from the kitchen table and led her down the hall to the bedroom. Though it was small and sparsely furnished, it had a warmth about it that made her feel especially at home — having grown up in a cottage just this size in Argyll, it was familiar and delightful to her. Perhaps it did not have the furnishings or glimmer of Downton, but it had Charles. And pushed up against the far wall of this bedroom — their bedroom—was a large bed. That was all that mattered in the world to her at that moment._

_"I'm not sure what I'm to do," Elsie said, gesturing toward the bed. She was thankful for the dimness of the room; he couldn't see how fiercely she was blushing. He shifted uncomfortably next to her - neither one wanting to be the first one to disrobe, neither wanting to be the suggestive one. She felt a nervous laugh bubble up in her chest. _

_"Well - I," Charles said, turning to her, his face illuminated by the honey colored light of the gas lamp, "I suppose - perhaps - we could get undressed." _

* * *

When Charles came in and crawled into bed, Elsie forced herself to stay perfectly still — she didn't want him to know she was still awake. They didn't row very often, but they were both stubborn so fights had the potential to drag on for days once they'd been started.

As he rested his head against the pillow she felt his weight in the bed, his hands reaching toward her, soft upon her back. She stiffened to his touch, rebuffing him. His hands froze against her a moment, then, they disappeared.

"You know neither of us will sleep until we've resolved this," he said, rolling on to his back. She held her breath, but quickly released it, giving in and rolling over toward him. Both of them on their backs, staring up at the ceiling, there was a moment of tense quiet until she finally broke through it with a sigh.

"Charles - why do you insist on comparing her to the young ladies?"

"I wouldn't say I compare them."

"You stack her up against them _all_ the time!" Elsie hissed, "As if to say she's less than they are —" She sat up and eyed him in the darkness, "And don't you _dare _even think about suggesting that she is just because she doesn't have a title before her name."

Carson sat up abruptly, nearly jostling her off the bed.

"I _would never, _Elsie. How could you even suggest that?"

"I'd say you're doing a _fine_ job of suggesting it!"

"Why, because I want her to have proper table manners? Because I want her to be well-behaved when she's at Downton? Why is it so troubling to you that I want our daughter to be polite and courteous?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, but, in the dark, didn't get the benefit of seeing his response, "No, Charles—because you behave at times as though Lady Mary is who she ought to be aspiring to be."

He didn't respond, and she continued, laying in to him a bit harder than she anticipated, but once her Scottish temper reared its head she was wont to stop it.

"The Crawley's can give their daughters anything in the entire world — they'll always have enough — **more** than enough. Those young ladies, sweet as they are, won't have to work a day in their life. They can afford to spend all their time and energy on needlepoint and _table manners." _She drew in a sharp breath, "So unless you're expecting to receive some great inheritance from the _Dowager Countess _in repaymentfor all your hard work, I think we ought to focus on teaching Aoife how to live in the real world — _not_ the world of _Downton _Abbey."

As soon as it had all tumbled out of her mouth, she wanted desperately to take it back. Even though she couldn't see him in the dark room, she closed her eyes, trying to will herself to truly disappear into the night. The longer the silence went on, the closer she came to tears. She was about to speak when a small voice piped up from the darkness.

"Ma?"

At some point during her tirade, Aoife had tiptoed into the room. Squinting into the darkness, Elsie could just make out her little face at the edge of their bed. Charles' hand was gently stroking her hair.

"Aoife, love, why aren't you in bed?" She said, her voice shaking.

"You woke me up." She said, almost accusatorily. Climbing up onto the bed, she clammored over Charles' lap and pressed herself against Elsie.

"Oh, love, I'm sorry. Your Da and I are having a talk —one that, I think, it'd be best for you not to overhear."

She felt Aoife grasp her nightgown, "Are you mad at me?"

Elsie's stomach turned, "Aoife, love — oh, God no. No. I'm not mad at you." She pulled her daughter close, blinking back tears. Next to her, she felt Charles wiggle toward the edge of the bed — after a few moments, a dim lamplight swelled through the room. He turned to face her and she could see his face properly now. His cheeks were red and tear-stained. He pushed his hand across the bedspread towards her. She reached down, covering it with hers.

"Your mother and I cherish you dearly, Aoife." Charles said, looking at his daughter. Elsie looked at him and waited — and after a moment, he glanced up at her. She smiled apologetically and his eyes softened. "You're the most precious thing we have; worth more than anything money could ever buy."

* * *

**A/N: **Aw, shucks. Thank you guys so much for the lovely comments and votes of confidence about this story! I'll keep writing so long as you want to keep reading - and who doesn't love a little Chelsie in their day? Also I'm really enjoying writing Aoife - it's fun to have more creative freedom and she's darling, isn't she? Don't worry- for all the angst there will be some proper smut in the future. . .:) xx


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: SMUT AHOY! Not the smuttiest of smut, but SmutLite? **

* * *

_She was thankful for the darkness — as she undressed, she began to shake. The less clothing she had on, the more she wore her doubts like shawls, heavy upon her shoulders. When she felt his hand in hers, leading her to the bed, her heart quickened and she felt a stirring somewhere deep inside of her — was that what it felt like, she wondered, to want a man?_

_Sitting on the bed, she waited, her hands folded patiently in her lap. He reached up and held his palm against her cheek — she instinctively found herself turning her face toward his hand, delighting in its warmth. When he leaned in to kiss her, she felt him gently nudge her lips apart, and her stomach flipped when she felt his tongue slip inside her mouth. She questioned with hers, running it along his bottom lip. She felt his hands move down her arms and rest at her waist, one grasping her hip while the rest of his body moved closer. Chest to chest, he pulled away just enough to speak._

_"May I — lay you back against the bed?"_

_She nodded and let her body relax as he guided her down and laid her gently against the pillows. He brushed the hair from her eyes and looked down at her, a peculiar smile on his face; all at once he was thrilled and apprehensive._

_"I'm not certain how much you would like me to explain." He said, "I must admit that — I—I have never had to."_

_At first she wasn't sure what he meant, but then she remembered, of course, his days on the stage. Of course he'd had other women — and no doubt not a single one was virginal. If anything he'd been the one who had needed an explanation._

_"I suppose I just. . .want to make sure I'm doing what I'm meant to do." She offered, folding her hands across her belly. Suddenly she felt vulnerable, the night air nipping at her bare skin and giving her gooseflesh._

_He nodded, running his hand across the top of his head, _"_Shall I start, then? And you can ask questions if need be?"_

_She tried to staunch a nervous laugh that rose up in her — she may not have known much but she suspected his formality at this moment was a bit out of place._

_"Go ahead," she said, patting his leg affectionately. She felt as though she were encouraging a cow to leave the barn so that she could milk it, back when she was a young lass and she rose with the sun each day to do her chores on the farm._

_He gently straddled her — mindful of his weight atop her —and tentatively ran his hands across her bare skin. He let his fingers gently rest upon her collarbone, the other hand running up the length of her full hips. He stared, somewhat unabashedly, at her breasts, but seemed hesitant to touch them._

_"Go on then, Mr. Carson." She whispered, reaching up to grasp his wrist. He looked at her, somewhat taken aback, but when she saw the wicked look in her eye he smiled. She brought his hand down and placed it on her breast. When he'd settled there, she lifted hers, waiting to see what he'd do._

_Kneading them gently, he seemed mesmerized by her flesh. Odd to her, as until this moment she'd never given much thought to them herself. He'd just as well have been holding a 24 karat brick of gold, judging by the look on his face._

_Something in him, then, unleashed itself and he leaned down quickly, his mouth on hers. The kiss was far less chaste than the ones they had shared before, and she felt the promise of this wonderment — sex —before her. He reached down and gently spread her thighs apart. She began to feel light-headed, as though she'd stood up too fast or gone to long without a swig of water. When his hand was upon her—upon that place she knew was meant for this yet somehow she didn't quite know how—she began to feel something rustle within her. The quiet swell of leaves in autumn, the rustling of a rabbit in the grass, the anticipation of wind moving through the trees and building, louder and yet staying quiet. A dampness there, something that at once troubled her but at the same time seemed natural, some previously undiscovered function of her body getting its wings._

_He paused then, looking down at her. "You're alright?"_

_She nodded, biting her lip. "I—I think so, yes. Are you?"_

_He smiled, "I am. Oh, indeed."_

_She watched as he ran one hand down her body and then, hovered over his undershorts, which he began to lower. It seemed startling to her that she was permitted to watch him do this, yet while it was incredibly intimate, it was nowhere near as frightening as she imagined._

_"I think, perhaps, if you look at me — just keep your eyes on me—for this next bit that. . .well, perhaps it would help." He said. She glanced up at him and nodded, feeling her body stiffen in preparation. She knew, from books, that this moment would be unpleasant. What had Queen Victoria said of it? 'Lie back and think of England?'_

_They held each other's gaze a moment, and though she wasn't exactly sure how it had happened so quickly, there was a moment of sudden, dull pain that wrapped itself tightly around her. She cried out, and her body's tense response only turned the pain inside her, sharpening it like a dull blade._

_"I'm sorry," he whispered, though she wasn't in search of an apology. Guided by her instinct, she lifted her pelvis ever-so-slightly and seemed to redirect the sensation, alleviating it for the time being. Sensing her body relax around him, he settled on top of her, beginning slow thrusts._

_What a peculiar feeling, she thought. Painful, yes, but also a pleasant sense of pressure, a building promise of release. The sensation of being filled made her realize, all at once, how empty she had been before._

* * *

Carson always knew when Aoife had fallen asleep in their room at some point during the night, because without fail he would wake up the next morning pushed into the far corner of the bed. Aoife, not unlike her mother, set the precedent for thievery when it came to bedcovers. He turned, supposing that neither of them were awake, and was surprised to see that Elsie was awake. She lay on her back, Aoife fast asleep on her chest as she rubbed her back. Feeling his gaze upon her, she let her head loll to the side, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Neither of them spoke. He slid his hand toward her beneath the covers, letting it rest gently on Aoife's back. As Elsie's hand danced tiny circles on the child's nightgown, she walked her fingers over his, sighing contentedly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, watching Aoife — she didn't stir, and he exhaled, relieved to not have woken her.

_"I'm_ sorry," Elsie said, her voice softer still, the rise of her chest threatening to wake the girl. "I was so cross with you —"

"No, you were right." He said, rolling over to face her, "I forget, at times, that Downton is not my home. That it's not ours."

The sound of longing in his voice made her heart ache.

"Oh, Charles." She whispered, grasping his hand, "I forget that it's really the only home you've ever known."

"Perhaps — until you." He said, propping himself up on his elbow. He leaned down to kiss her, accidentally nudging Aoife, who whimpered, miffed at the interruption of her sleep.

"Hush, lass." Elsie said, kissing her hair.

Aoife yawned, "Da?" she mumbled, her heavy arms reaching for him. He moved to sit up, leaning his back against the headboard. Elsie too, sat up slowly, careful to use Aoife up with her. Eyes still closed, Aoife crawled from Elsie arms into Charles', whose embrace dwarfed her. Beneath his arms and the blankets, Aoife practically disappeared. Pressed into his chest, her fists tucked up under her chin, she quickly fell back asleep. He rested his chin upon her head. Elsie yawned and snuggled up to him, pressing her body into his side. He wrapped one arm around her and enveloped her in. Elsie arm wrapped around Aoife, who rested across his broad chest. They both sighed.

He was home.

* * *

**A/N: YEAH WELL GUESS WHAT THERE'S MORE ANGST TO BE HAD IT AIN'T OVER. But, with angst comes make up sex potential I shall remind you. I'm several chapters ahead on this so you should see some regular updates now - with an interlude for work on the holiday fanfic exchange! As always, thank you for reading and commenting - I do it all for you, loves! (Okay, well, maybe the smuttiness is mostly for me hahaha) **


	7. Chapter 6

_She heaved a mighty sigh — her shoulders rising up as she attempted to work a crick from her neck. He sat at the foot of the bed, facing toward the door, while she was at the head of it, staring aimlessly out the window. She'd showed him the letter as soon as it had arrived. Shocked by its contents, she needed another set of eyes to read it, to make sure she hadn't misunderstood. As he scanned the letter, addressed to Mrs. Charles Carson, his face turned ashen and when he lifted his eyes to look at her, the light was gone from them like an unstruck match._

_"He's certain?" He said, setting the letter down on the bed._

_Elsie's mouth hung open, "I'd say so Charles, he's the doctor."_

_He picked up the letter and read it again. His brow furrowed, he stared at it longer than was necessary and when she realized he was avoiding looking at her again, she stood up, folding her arms across her chest and standing before the window._

_"I suppose we'll have to tell His Lordship." He said after a few moments. She heard the bed creak as it released his weight, but he didn't come to her immediately. Instead, he hovered somewhat lost, at the foot of the bed._

_"I'll have to tell Her Ladyship — I won't be able to conceal it much longer." She turned to him and offered a small smile — she was, in truth, delighted. Apprehensive, too, but not plagued by it. Not as he appeared to be._

_"Have you been?" He asked, "Concealing it?"_

_"Are you daft, Charles? Surely you've noticed my figure's a bit riper than usual."_

_He shrugged, "Not really — or, if I did, I certainly didn't think — "_

_His eyes ran over her body a moment, looking for some sign, some clue that he had missed. His sudden scrutiny made her feel weepy, and she turned sharply away from him. Of course she knew as soon as she'd read the letter that things would change, that they would be difficult. They had talked about children and of course she wanted to bear his, but practicality set in quickly once the honeymoon was over and they returned to work. They both worked such long days, labor intensive ones at that, and the only thing in life that she wanted to give herself to wholly — other than him — was her career. The letter had been a reckoning, a fork placed dutifully in the road. She would have to choose, she knew. What she hadn't considered was that he may feel that he too must choose between that which he loved most._

_"How do you feel?" He asked, breaking his silence. He stepped toward her and in that moment she felt a heap of emotion — one that overtook her so that she fell gracelessly into his arms. He hugged her, resting his chin upon her shoulder._

_"Tired," she laughed against him, tears stinging her eyes. "A little sick — surely you noticed I haven't touched my toast in the morning?"_

_He pressed a kiss against her ear, "I assumed it was because you've been habitually burning it."_

_She pulled away, slapping his chest playfully, "I told you, I'm trying to get accustomed to the heat of the griddle."_

_"We've been here almost a year, Elsie!"_

_They held each other's gaze a moment before they both erupted in laughter. Pressing her forehead to his chest, she composed herself. When she felt his arms encircle her, she exhaled._

_"A child," he said, his voice high with astonishment. He gripped her tighter and she felt the dampness of his cheek against her neck as he buried his face against her._

_"You're not unhappy, then?" She said, lacing her fingers around his neck._

_"A bit taken aback but surely not unhappy," he said, pulling away just enough to look at her, "You're happy?"_

_Her lips released a smile — on that she'd been holding on to since she had first opened Dr. Clarkson's letter. "My dear Ma, rest her soul, once told me that I'd know when I'd found the man I loved — whose bairns I'd be destined to bear. She said, "Jo, wait for a man who respects you like a sea captain respects the sea. A man who looks at you with awe and reverence but knows you are a force of nature."_

_"Your dear mother was a wise woman." Carson said, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. "I think I'd gladly drown in a sea of love." He placed one hand gently across her abdomen and looked at her as though he were staring into uncharted water. Inside her, a sea of possibility began to rise._

* * *

Elsie hovered outside the door to the nursery. She'd come upstairs to collect Her Ladyship's linens and heard the giggles of Miss Roux and the girls, who had begun their lessons for the day. Craning her neck toward the door, which was left open a crack, she overheard their quiet chatter.

"Very nicely done, Aoife." Miss Roux said, her voice young and silky. The tutor was practically still a girl herself — she couldn't be more than twenty-one—and was very tall and beautiful. No doubt the girls were more attentive to her ever-rotating Parisian wardrobe and hairstyles than they were the lessons she taught.

"Thank you, Miss Roux." Aoife said, her voice barely audible over the din of the room. Elsie smiled to herself—perhaps Charles' insistence upon her manners hadn't been for naught.

"Aoife — would you get me a new quill?" Mary asked, "I've broken this one."

Elsie furrowed her brow as she heard the sound of a chair being pushed back along the hardwood floor. She heard tiny footsteps, then, a moment or so later, Aoife's tiny voice.

"Here you are, m'lady."

Fuming, Elsie burst into the room — forgetting herself entirely—and glared at Miss. Roux. The young woman was clearly startled, but not so much as Aoife, who was holding her hand out to Mary. The eldest Crawley girl slowly picked her head up and looked indignantly toward the door where Elsie had burst in

"Aoife, love, come with me." She said sternly, staring Miss. Roux down.

"Mrs. Carson, I beg your pardon, but we're not finished with today's lessons."

"Yes you are," Elsie said, picking up her skirt and marching into the room. She grabbed Aoife's arm—harder than she intended to—and pulled her out of the room.

"Mrs. Carson, wait—"

Elsie tore through the long hallway, dragging Aoife behind her. Too shocked to protest, Aoife followed limply, her eyes wide and glistening with tears.

When she'd reached the top of the stairs, Elsie paused. She exhaled a long sigh and looked back at Aoife, who was looking at her as though she'd turned into some terrible nightmarish creature. Seeing her daughter regard her with fear, Elsie quietly damned herself as she slowly knelt down before her.

"I'm so sorry, Jo." Elsie whispered, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Why can't I have my lessons today?" Aoife asked, her eyes still following every minor move of Elsie's — as though she expected to need to lunge away from her. The realization made Elsie nauseated.

"Aoife, _why _do you call Mary "m'lady?" Elsie asked, reaching up to tuck one of Aoife's auburn tresses behind her warm ear.

"That's what you call the Countess," Aoife said, "When you do her hair."

Elsie smiled, "That's because she's my employer, Aoife."

"I work for Mary, don't I?"

Elsie's breath hitched — she lowered her hand from Aoife's hair and pressed it against her thigh, trying to calm herself. "Why do you say that, Aoife?"

The child shrugged, "She told me that she's going to be Countess one day and that I will be her lady's maid." Aoife said, her lip trembling, "She—she said we should p-practice."

Elsie reached up to wipe the tears from Aoife's eyes.

"What did I do wrong, Ma?" Aoife asked, "I have manners don't I?"

Elsie pulled Aoife close, "You haven't done anything wrong, love." She pulled away and looked at her, "Why don't you come downstairs and I'll get you a cup of tea with honey."

"What about my lessons?" She sniffled.

Elsie sighed, "I have to talk to your Da, Aoife. You haven't done anything wrong, don't fret."

Aoife looked over her shoulder to make sure they were alone, and reassured, she reached her arms up self consciously. Elsie acquiesced, lifting her into her arms and settling her onto her hip. Aoife rested her head on Elsie's shoulder, wrapping her arms around her mother's neck. Elsie hushed her quietly as they made their way downstairs, her breath as loud as the rustling of her skirts against the stairs.

* * *

**A/N: **So, I have to tell you guys that I have *sort of* finished this story - but I don't think I'm necessarily done with the AU, so this has a few more chapters left and I think I'll probably start another one, maybe one that runs parallel to it or, . . . I'm not sure. There's so much I want to explore about these two and their relationship, their parenting relationship. . .etc, etc. Thank you for reading, commenting, sending love - you guys are amazing and I'm just like, always so excited to work on it and post for you! 3


	8. Chapter 7

_Elsie tried her best to take advantage of not just the warm days that had graced them in the spring months, but also her not yet fully expanded waistline, at least when it came to working in the garden. It wasn't much, mostly because neither of them had much time to devote to it. Though she did like the idea of tending to a few flower beds; if the posies were nice enough, she'd bring them inside and make tiny table arrangements. She enjoyed having something to do all by lonesome: she was hardly ever alone, as it was. Before she'd married Charles she would at least have a few hours in the evening to read and sip her tea. Not that she didn't enjoy his company (which, in any case, she'd even sought out when they weren't married, as was evidenced by their almost nightly glass of sherry) but she was somewhat relieved to have a bit of time just for herself and her thoughts._

_The dirt was cool to the touch, as it was in early spring before the sun had warmed the earth. It was pleasantly damp against her skin, which seemed particularly tender these days. The baby wouldn't come until the fall, but she had already begun to be made aware of the changes to her body. She had not been able to wear her corset for several weeks and she felt tired by luncheon, which made her afternoon duties — and tending to Her Ladyship when she went up for bed — nearly impossible. She felt, perhaps, as each day passed she perfected the art of sleeping upright. _

_She hadn't felt the baby's presence yet — at least, she didn't think she had. The book she'd been reading, Dr. Buchanan's _Domestic Medicine_, had mentioned it only in passing. It brought a smile to her lips to think about it, though she wondered if it was an experience she ought to share with Charles; Dr. Buchanan's book didn't mention that._

_Brushing the dirt from her hands, she moved to stand and was somewhat embarrassed to discover that her balance and — perhaps—her very center of gravity had shifted so greatly that she could barely manage to get herself up from the ground. She chuckled to herself, thankful that Charles had gone to town and wasn't there to witness her clumsiness._

_"Elsie — you should have waited until I returned before you went rolling about in the garden."_

_Perhaps she'd spoken to soon. Hands on her hips, sweat plastering her hair against her cheeks, she turned to see Charles meandering through the yard to her, carrying parcels from town._

_"I called for you when I came in," he said, a touch out of breath, "I thought perhaps something was the matter when I didn't see you in the drawing room."_

_She huffed, "Well, I wasn't going to sit in the house all day like a lump on a log — not on a gorgeous day like this."_

_He watched her as she carefully bent down to retrieve her gardening tools, wiping the excess dirt off on her apron, "I thought I'd start turning over some of these beds."_

_"Should you be — in your condition?"_

_"My condition? Good Lord, Charles, I'm in the family way not a leper." She waddled past him, "Come in, then. Did you get what I asked you to from the patisserie?"_

_"The toffee pudding? Yes, did." He said, hustling to catch up to her._

_"Scottish —?"_

_"Yes — of course." As they stepped into the kitchen, he unloaded his parcels onto the table and she moved over to the sink to wash her hands._

_"One of the shopkeepers had such a peculiar idea," Charles said, lifting the small box from the bakery from his knapsack, "He had hand-sewn tiny satchels into which he wanted to put a smidge of tea leaves that he could then send to other shopkeepers so that they could give it a go before he sent them several pounds." He shook his head incredulously, "I was polite, of course, and was sure to encourage his entrepreneurial spirit because I do like this chap — but imagine how terrible it must taste, steeped in silk!"_

_Elsie looked over her shoulder at him, "A tea-bag, what a queer prospect!" She laughed, shaking the excess water off her hands, "Though wouldn't it be nice to only make one serving of tea — if it were just you—wouldn't need to make a whole pot."_

_Charles frowned at her, "I'd rather have excess tea that is remarkable than just the right amount which is subpar."_

_She wrinkled her nose at him, coming over to the table and taking his face in her still-damp hands playfully, "Aye, but you're an Englishman and I'm a Scottish farmgirl. We're far more practical than thou." She leaned up to kiss him, and he lingered against her lips a little longer than he intended. He'd only been in town for the morning but he'd missed her. He always missed her when they weren't together._

_"What of this pastry?" He said, holding the box up for her to take, "Homesick are you?"_

_Her eyes widened as she took the small box from him, and as she made her way to the table he thought he saw her skip a little._

_"Oh — I've a hankering for it as of late. Unbearably. I've dreamt about it, even." She lifted the lid from the box and her face lit up, "Oh, look how gorgeous. Near as pretty as the ones my Ma used to make"_

_Charles pulled a fork from the drawer and handed it to her — fearing that she was about to lift the sticky pasty up with her hands out of sheer desperation to have her craving quenched. She took the fork happily and pressed it against the gooey cake._

_"I rather think it a shame I did not have the privilege of meeting your mother," Charles ventured, sitting down across from her at the table. He thought about asking her for a bite of the treat, but when he heard her low, satisifed moans he thought better of it._

_"She'd have loved you," Elsie said, sinking the fork back into the cake, "But you'd think her a bit much."_

_"A relation of yours, a bit much?" Charles said incredulously, "I'm unconvinced."_

_Elsie swallowed, "No — she was, before she was ill. She was delightful; singing and dancing all the time. She and my Da were the finest reelers in all of Argyll, maybe all of Scotland."_

_"And you?"_

_"Oh, I could hold my own." She looked up at him with a glint in her eye, "They called me Eight-Step Elsie."_

_He guffawed at this, imaging her spinning around a barn somewhere in western Scotland, "Did they now?"_

_She paused, the fork halfway to her mouth, "You don't believe me?"_

_He shook his head innocently, "Oh — I believe you. I'd have just given my left foot to see it."_

_Accepting his challenge, she gently set the fork down and stood, pushing the chair back from the table._

_"Oh — Elsie, you don't—"_

_"Alright Mr. Carson — clap your hands, would you please? Like this:" She clapped a simple, steady rhythm and though he felt a bit sheepish, he repeated it and carried it through as he watched her hike her skirts up. She paused — holding one finger up to him, "Keep that rhythm going, love, I've got to take these off."_

_She reached down with one hand and unlaced her boots, lifting her feet out of them. She curved them, rolling her ankles. He hadn't noticed it before but her feet were beautifully arched, indeed like the many other dancers he'd known in his life._

_"Don't slow down on me, Charles." She said, nodding her head in time to his clapping. She bobbed up and down a moment and then, as if springing to life, began to highland step right there in the middle of their kitchen. Her hands lightly holding her skirts, which fanned out around her legs, and each pointed foot rising and falling in time. She closed her eyes smiling brightly, and he clapped a bit faster. Her eyes flicking open in response to the challenge, her footwork sped up, each foot gracefully rising and falling before the other. She reached one hand out to him and, finding himself somewhat caught up in the sight of her, took it without hesitation and held her spontaneity. She danced him around the kitchen, mindful of the small space, the chairs and uneven floorboards, and he was somewhat startled by the sound of his own laughter._

_As they maneuvered their way around her chair, she suddenly stopped short, one hand bracing the side of her abdomen. He'd noticed she'd stopped wearing her corset a few weeks ago, and finally he could — and he supposed anyone else—tell she was carrying a child. He looked down at her with, he perhapsed, a look of horror on his face._

_"Are you alright?" He asked, trying to catch his breath. He grasped her shoulders tightly and she shushed him, letting her other hand come to the top of her belly. He studied her face for a moment and then, before he could implore her further, her hand shot out and grasped his, an open-mouthed grin spreading on her face. Without a thought, she pressed his hand into her center, which all at once felt strange and intimate, even for them. She waited a moment in silence and then, he felt it; a small flutter against his open palm. They caught each other's eye and stared at one another, waiting on baited breath to see if they would feel it again._

_"Did you feel that?" She breathed, grabbing his other hand and pressing it to her stomach. She closed her eyes, as if trying to envision the baby turning over somewhere deep inside of her. He thought, perhaps, he had — but how could he possibly be sure?_

_"Is it—?"_

_There, against his hand again — a small thump. She blinked up at him, biting her lower lip, her eyes shining. "You felt that, didn't you?"_

_He laughed nervously, "I — well, I suppose I did. What am I feeling, exactly?"_

_She let go of his hands and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, "Your child, Charles—"_

_He reached his hands up to grasp her arms and she pressed her face into his neck. He could feel her tears against his skin as she shook in his arms. At first he thought that she was crying, and he moved to pull her away so that he could see her face — but as he did, his face softened when he realized that she was laughing — tears of joy spilling from her eyes and a gentle laugh rising up in her like a fiddle warbling a reel._

* * *

Elsie set Aoife down in the servant's hallway, outside the doorway to the kitchen. Peering in, she saw that Mrs. Patmore was already bustling about, the young scullery maids hustling under her watchful eye. She'd hoped that perhaps she could leave Aoife in her charge, but seeing how busy she was she immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. Aoife was pressed against her skirts, sensing her mother's conflict.

"Mrs. Carson —?"

Elsie turned. Coming up the hall, a basket over her arm and her hair neatly tucked up under a pretty hat, was Charity. The young maid had been at Downton longer than Elsie, and was well on her way to becoming head housemaid, if that was her perogative. She was tall, with a soft voice and a natural grace about that Elsie would have envied when she was the girl's age. When she'd first arrived at Downton and met Charity, the girl had been young and uncertain in her role, but over the years she had matured and developed a quiet confidence that made her, now, something of a role model for the younger maids who looked up to her not just for her skill, but her grace and beauty as well.

"Hello, Aoife." She said, smiling down at the girl. Aoife smiled up at her from Elsie's side — she thought of Charity as something of an older sister.

"Are you off to town, Charity?" Elsie said, nodding toward the basket. Charity nodded, reaching up to reposition her hat.

"I've a few errands to run," she said. "No lessons today, Aoife?"

"Charity, I hate to ask but — could you look after Aoife this afternoon?"

"Of course!" Charity beamed, "If she doesn't mind going into town with me."

Aoife looked up at Elsie, "Can I, Ma?"

"Oh — Charity, love, thank you." She reached into her dress pocket, pulling out a few shillings. "Here — take this, have your tea."

"You needn't give me any money," Charity laughed, "I'm running errands for the housekeeper, not myself."

Elsie closed the girls hand around the coins, "Please — for your trouble."

Charity smiled, "It's no trouble, Mrs. Carson. It's been far too long since Aoife and I had a day out, isn't it pet?"

Aoife smiled up at her, leaving Elsie's skirts and taking Charity's out stretched hand. "Can we get biscuits?"

"Thank you, Charity. Really — why don't you come up to our cottage on your halfday for supper."

"I would love to, Mrs. Carson." She took Aoife's hand, "Alright the, shall we?"

"Goodbye, Ma!" Aoife said, skipping down the hall with Charity, who gave Elsie a wrinkle of her nose over her shoulder.

"I won't let her spoiler her dinner with biscuits, Mrs. Carson." She said.

Elsie waved her off, shaking her head. "I won't tell Mr. Carson if you don't."

She watched as the two giggling girls turned the corner of the hall, and felt a hand on the small of her back.

"Won't tell Mr. Carson _what?_"

Her head snapped around and she saw Charles standing behind her. He looked surprised that she was so shocked to see him. It wasn't as if they didn't cross one another's paths at least a few times a day and it was hardly unusual for him to tuck her around a corner and steal a kiss.

"Nothing, love." She said, putting a hand on his chest as he walked past him. Rather dejectedly, he followed, skipping a few steps to catch up with her.

"Elsie —?"

She closed her eyes without turning back to him, "Charles — I'm fine, I've—"

He placed his hand on her upper back and she bristled, "Elsie. . .?

She turned to him, forcing a smile, "Quite a busy day —" she said, reaching up to kiss his cheek non-commitally, then scurried away without saying goodbye. Charles opened his mouth to speak, but she'd already turned swiftly to flee down the hallway. By the time the words he'd been searching for found his lips, she'd already disappeared up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N:** This story got a second-wind, so I thought I'd finished but found a new road to go down so, as long as you're still reading there will be more to come! Who knows maybe it'll lay the foundations for a historical fiction novel . . .anyway, thank you, as always for all your lovely comments and thoughts. I just adore all of you so much.

* * *

_He watched as she emerged from the bathroom, her hair damp and a blanket of terry cloth pressed tightly against her body. He rose from his seat by the window and moved to close it, drawing the drapery closed as to keep out the evening's chill. He lowered himself back down in his chair and reached once more for his book — only to find himself distracted by the sight of her across the room, the towel gently falling to one side, revealing the top of her breast._

_He knew little of a woman's body in theory, even less about fertility and pregnancy, but he couldn't help but marvel at how her figure had adjusted to the task of growing a child. How marvelous it was that by instinct and perhaps a brushstroke of divinity, she could nurture the seed of love into a human being, a child to be cherished by them life long. _

_It sparked in him perhaps a historic desire to protect her — where as before he had been compelled to touch her skin for the rush of electricity and passion that consumed him, now he reached for her with a different kind of affection. A warmth and assertion of safety. Suddenly the world seemed terribly frightening to him — everything a potential threat. It was all he could do not to follow her around minute by minute, a few steps ahead, assuring that the seas parted in her favor wherever they went._

_She looked over her bare shoulder at him and blushed. _

_"You'll be pleased to know I didn't drown in the bath." She teased, pulling the towel closer to herself. _

_He smiled; though she teased him, he knew that late at night when she awoke in a panic, her dreams unraveling into a state of horror, he would be there to take her into his arms and chase the demons out. _

_"Shall I fetch you tea before bed?" He asked, draining the cup he had been nursing for the evening. He set it back down on the saucer and stood, watching as she began to pull a comb through her wet hair._

"_No, love, I think I'm settled—" she chuckled to herself, reaching up to untangle a knot, "The less I have to drink, the longer I'll sleep without interruption."_

_Brush in one hand, Elsie reached into the wardrobe and pulled out her nightgown. She wrapped it around herself, careful to keep the towel pressed against her until the last possible moment, and he had a mere glimpse of her round belly before it was covered by her flannel._

_She yawned as she sat down on the bed, continuing to brush out her hair. She looked up at him and grinned, wrinkling her nose at him. _

_"You've something on your mind, Charles?" She asked, eyes sparkling, "Or did you just forget which way the kitchen is?"_

_He shook his head and smiled, "I was just thinking about how quickly the time has gone. It seems like only yesterday you had the letter from Dr. Clarkson."_

_"Maybe time's flown by for you but I can assure you it feels to me as though this bairn will never come," she sighed, patting her stomach affectionately._

_He leaned forward, his tongue nervously running along his bottom lip. "You aren't — I mean, you are so mindful to cover yourself — I'm just — do you feel as though it's improper for me to see you in your current state?" He furrowed his brow at her, "I feel as though you are wont to hide it from me — as though, perhaps, you think me fearful or —" He searched harder for the sentiment, but couldn't seem to find it, "I don't know, perhaps ashamed or upset or —"_

_He looked down at her. She had stopped brushing her hair, allowing the brush to rest in her lap. Her eyes downcast, he suddenly worried that he'd upset her, and as he opened his mouth to apologize, he heard her sigh._

_"Squeamish, perhaps." She said, lifting her gaze but keeping her head low. "I suppose I just feel as though you'd just as well not know about the bairn until it takes its first breath. That seems to be His Lordship's way."_

_Charles nodded, "Well, I admit my knowledge of a woman's work is limited, but I am ever the eager pupil."_

_She didn't speak. He took a few steps toward her, "Do you think me disinterested in how you're feeling? I can assure you I am always most interested in your well-being."_

_"Oh, I know that." She said, lifting her face, "I suppose I'm just afraid you'll be —" she winced slightly, "Disgusted, maybe."_

_He sat down next to her on the bed, resting his hand on her thigh. "I couldn't be disgusted with you — certainly not when you're mere weeks away from bearing my child."_

_"Even though we're wed, I still feel somewhat of a scandal, bringing a bairn into Downton how we are." She rested her hand atop his, "I suppose we've a right to have our own life but — I suppose I worry that now you'll feel as though you've to choose."_

_"Choose?"_

_"Between your life at Downton — and you're life with me."_

_He frowned at her, "I suppose I could have said the same thing to you when I asked you to marry me. Did you feel you had a choice to make then?"_

_She smiled nostalgically, "If I did it wasn't a difficult one to make."_

_He kissed her cheek, "Well then — there's the answer to your quandary."_

_He rose, heading for the door — but her voice stopped him just as his fingers grasped the doorknob._

_"Charles, if we stay on you've to promise me one thing."_

_He turned to face her. She was sitting in bed, hands resting atop her stomach, which stretched forward with such ferocity that he couldn't fathom how they still had several more weeks before the baby would arrive. He let go of the doorknob, taking a few steps toward the bed._

_"Alright," he said, his eyes softening. She sighed, letting her gaze fall from his. She lifted a hand from her stomach and ran it along the backside of her neck, which had begun to ache._

_"The child must go to school. They won't go into service."_

_He held her gaze for a moment, careful not to let her see that he was hurt by her certainty — he detected, perhaps, a slight resentment. "Schooling I most certainly agree with but. . ." he licked his lips thoughtfully, "Why do you feel so vehement about service?"_

_"If I'm going to bring a bairn into this world, a world that's changing so fast Charles, they've got to be able to survive — " she exhaled a shuttered breath, "Long after we've gone and there's no one in the world to look after them."_

_He sighed, sitting down next to her on the bed. He carefully placed a hand on her stomach, "And you don't think they'd find that in a house like Downton? Didn't we?"_

_She offered him a small smile, "I suppose we did — but I don't know that there _are _any other houses like Downton." She placed her hand atop his. The baby kicked and they both looked up, catching each other's eye. Looking wide-eyed at one another for a moment until finally, relieved and also quite tired, Elsie dissolved into a fit of giggles. She leaned forward, trying to catch her breath, and pressed her forehead to his. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck._

_She smelled faintly of sandalwood and honey._

* * *

Elsie knew she was daft to think that Miss Roux wouldn't mention her outburst to Lady Grantham. She'd hardly set foot in Her Ladyship's bedroom that evening before Cora began her inquisition.

"Hughes — is Aoife alright?"

Elsie swallowed, "Yes, m'lady."

Cora flustered, "Well, Miss Roux said that you removed her from her lessons in quite a huff today — I wanted to be sure that nothing was wrong."

"She was just a bit under the weather this morning, m'lady." Elsie said, quickly fabricating an excuse, "I thought better of letting her stay in the nursery with the young ladies if she could be running a temperature."

Unconvinced, Cora narrowed her eyes at Hughes. "You're telling the truth?"

Elsie pursed her lips, unwavering. "I reckon it's only a cold, m'lady." Forcing a terse smile, she walked over and began to remove the pins from Cora's hair. As she watched her Lady's Maid in the mirror, Cora saw on her face the strain of motherhood — and though she wanted to press further, she resisted. Perhaps if she talked _around _the matter she could corner Hughes into a proper confession.

"Miss. Roux has had wonderful things to say about Aoife. She's very bright." She watched Hughes in her reflection for a response — but she remained unflinchingly stern. She near looked angry. "I wasn't the least bit surprised — she comes from very good stock."

She smiled, but Elsie's face remained blank. She took the last pin from Cora's hair — a bit roughly—and went to fetch her dressing gown. Cora found herself irritated with Hughes' silence, and she stood, knocking her dressing table as she did, sending the pins onto the floor.

"_Out_ with it, Hughes." She said. Elsie looked down at the pins and hastily moved to pick them up, but Cora stepped in front of them, cutting her off. "Don't mind those — tell me, what _is_ the matter with you? I know I've caught you in a lie - and I'll forgive you that if you tell me, at once, what's really bothering you."

From where she knelt before Cora, Elsie looked up at Her Ladyship in shock. It was rare that Cora rose her voice to _anyone, _even staff, and she felt her face flush at the realization that she'd managed to bring her to such a boiling point.

"B-beg pardon, m'lady—" Elsie stuttered, quickly getting to her feet, "I didn't mean to be cross —" She felt tears of frustration and embarrassment stinging her eyes. _Oh, you twat, don't you dare cry. Not here._

Cora sighed, lowering herself back onto the settee, "I think I know precisely what it is, Hughes." She reached for her hairbrush and turned back to the mirror as she handed it to Elsie. "It's Mary, isn't it?" She sighed, "Come then - what's she done?"

Cornered, Elsie felt her hands begin to shake as she took the silver hairbrush from Her Ladyship and slowly pulled it through Cora's long, raven hair. She gathered thoughts, listening as the brush caught on a snarl — the rough snag snapping her to attention.

"It's not Lady Mary, m'lady. Aoife's just. . .she's got the idea in her head that she will be Mary's lady's maid when she's grown up."

Cora smiled knowingly, "I suppose Mary is already planning to succeed me as Countess of Grantham, then."

"It appears so," Elsie said.

"Well, that's all just a child's imagination —" she looked up at Elsie, "Was Aoife upset by it?"

"No, m'lady — but I think _I_ was."

"They're just little girls playing make-believe."

Elsie sighed, "I suppose I just don't want Aoife to grow up _assuming _that she's to follow the path as her Ma and Da. . ." She let her hands fall from Cora's hair, "It's natural, I think, to want better for your children." She tensed, catching herself, "Not that I'm ungrateful for my position here, m'lady — I love my work—as you know I was married to it for many years, and I take pride in it —" She swallowed, trying to catch her breath, "But the world is changing m'lady."

She felt humiliated by her rambling — it wasn't the time nor the place for it, but it had been weighing so heavily upon her that she couldn't help but feel relieved. She stared down at her hands, which still clutched the cool silver of Cora's hairbrush. She didn't dare look up — she held certain fear that she would soon enough be reprimanded.

"I can hardly _flog _you for wanting the best possible life for your child, Hughes." Cora said softly, rising from the settee and heading toward her bed. Elsie moved swiftly to turn down the covers, but Cora turned and gently stopped her. "You'll recall, Hughes, that I was not born into the title of Countess — not like Mary is—destined for by _blood." _She sat down on the bed and gave Elsie a relaxed grin, "If _my _mother hadn't wanted more for me than she had — even though she had a great deal—I wouldn't be sitting here now would I?"

Elsie exhaled. It shouldn't have _surprised _her that Her Ladyship was empathetic. After all, she _wasn't _like the other aristocrats Elsie had known in her life — Cora Crawley had grace, and she wore like handsome jewels around her neck. All she could do was nod graciously and return Cora's friendly smile.

"I appreciate your understanding, m'lady. You have been so very good to me — and to Charles. And Aoife. If I thought that Aoife would have a place like Downton to make a life at, I wouldn't ever lose another night's sleep over her future."

Cora shook her head, "You say that Hughes — but just wait until she begins to have suitors."

Outside, rain had begun coming down in sheets. The soft patter pinged against the window as two women— _mothers_—giggled quietly, echoing its staccato notes.

* * *

_A/N: Shhhh, no worries, more angst / resolution / angst / smut to come! Don't mean to drag it out terribly but I don't want to upload the entire document at once now do I?! ;) _


	10. Chapter 9-10

**A/N: OMG I KNOW HUGE UPDATE. This is where I had originally intended to end this story - and for the time being, it *is* going to have to end, at least until after the holidays. I was just offered a editorial position that I can't pass up - but it will, of course, mean I have absolutely no free time. So, as I head forth to perhaps climb the career ladder, I thank you all immensely for taking this journey with me! I'll pop back to this AU when I need to take a break from editing, writing and otherwise doing non-fun writing projects. I really hope this is a fitting ending and that you've all enjoyed the story - I have so enjoyed writing it and all your lovely comments. Best. Fandom. Ever. So, big update means: smut, angst, comfort, flashbacks, Cobert (bits anyway), adorable Aoife &amp; of course fluff. :) **

* * *

Downstairs, Aoife peered over the top of the table and watched in awe as Mrs. Patmore's hands skillfully kneaded bread dough, her upper back arching with each push against the table. Aoife had grown up underfoot in the kitchen of Downton Abbey and she especially liked watching Mrs. Patmore prepare the very elegant meals that the upstairs family enjoyed each day. If she was quiet and stayed out of the way, before the night was over Mrs. Patmore was known to hand her a sweet, or another nibble of whatever she'd been working on throughout the day. Although Mrs. Patmore could be very loud and, at times, even mean she was always gentle and kind to Aoife. After dinner, when the maids were puttering about and her parents were readying His and Her Ladyship for bed, Aoife would sit in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore and wait for her to regale stories of life at Downton before the child had arrived.

"Tell me about the night I was borned, Mrs. Patmore!" Aoife said, slapping her hand against the hardwood table top, sending a puff of flour up into the air. Mrs. Patmore shot her a glare, but softened quickly, taking Aoife's face in her floured hands — leaving the dust behind upon her cheeks.

"You've heard that story 'nuff times to tell it to _me," _Mrs. Patmore chuckled, wiping her brow across her arm, she lifted the glob of dough and began to push it into the bread pans, "I've to get these in their pans—so, go on, then — you know how it starts."

Aoife grinned, bouncing up and down a bit as she geared up to tell the story — her own story— "It started out right here, didn't it? In the kitchen?"

Mrs. Patmore nodded, "Right abouts where you're standing."

Biting her lip, Aoife looked up to one side, thinking hard, "The broken teacup, right? Ma broke a teacup?"

"You mighta' said _you _broke it, Aoife." Mrs. Patmore laughed heartily, "You gave your mother quite a fright, you did. . ."

* * *

_Elsie shot her hand out to grab the edge of the table, knocking over a teacup in the process and causing it to fall to the floor, the porcelain shattering._

_Beryl looked up from the far end of the table and eyed her — Elsie was due to give birth any day now, but had forbade anyone to shoulder her duties. She'd "work right up until her water's broke," she said, just like her Ma had back on their farm in Argyll. There'd be no confinement for her. For the last several weeks she'd slowed noticeably, but Her Ladyship was generous enough not to mention it. Charles had watched for her like a hawk — if he so much as spotted her thinking about descending the staircase, he'd leap to her aid, offering his arm and making her cluck her tongue._

_"Women've been havin' bairns for a thousand years, Charles." She'd say, rolling her eyes, "And they weren't being waited on hand and foot!"_

_"Well, those women were not _my_ wife, carrying _my_ child." He'd say, kissing her cheek. She'd quiet at that, let him cherish her a bit. She was tired, truthfully, and apprehensive about what was to come. Though to wear her anxiety on her face would only stand to deepen the lines that were already there, and what was the sense in that?_

_"Oh, —Mrs. Patmore, sorry, I've —" Elsie hesitated, pulling in a sharp breath, the air whistling through her teeth. "Good Lord, that hurt."_

_Beryl set down the mixing bowl she'd been holding and pressed her palms against the table, leaning in. She stared down at Elsie._

_"If it's time you'd better tell me," Beryl said, " 'cause I'd wager once you go upstairs you ain't be coming down 'em again."_

_Elsie looked up at her, her knuckles gone white from gripping the edge of the table. In an instant, a look of relief crossed her face and she straightened._

_"Well, I'm all right now," she said, shaking her head, "I'll fetch a broom for that broken teacup." She made her way across the room toward the door, but stopped just as she made it to the threshold. Beryl heard it before she saw it, a dull 'pop', almost as though someone had just cracked their knuckles. Slowly, Elsie turned to her, one hand pressed against the doorframe._

_"Was that—?" Beryl said, tottering around the table and over to where Elsie stood, motionless. They both looked down at saw a quickly-spreading spot of dampness along the floor. They met each other's gaze and Beryl sputtered, "Well— better in_here_ than in the library with them oriental rugs."_

* * *

"What mischief are you two getting up to in here?" Carson said, stepping into the kitchen.

Aoife skipped across the kitchen to him, "Da!"

"Aoife was tellin' me the story of the night she was born, Mr. Carson." Beryl said, turning toward the door. Carson raised his eyebrows incredulously,

"_She _was telling it to _you_, Mrs. Patmore?"

"Lord knows she's heard it enough times — she can practically recite it like a sonnet!" Beryl said, throwing her hands up in defeat, "I'd imagine you could as well, Mr. Carson."

Carson hummed nostalgically, "Ah yes — well, perhaps not a sonnet." He leaned down and lifted Aoife into his arms, "But as a _soliloquy_!" As he bellowed, he took Aoife's small hand in his and took a few steps of a waltz into the kitchen. The sounds of Aoife's laughter echoing down the hall.

"If my memory serves me, Mr. Carson, _you_ were in need of some smelling salts before the night was through—" She shook her head, "They gave the missus some nice ether but _she _had more of her wits about 'er than _you _did."

"If _my _memory serves me Mrs. Patmore, I was orchestrating the event!"

She scoffed, "From behind the o'er side of the door!"

* * *

_"You'll stay with me, won't you?" Elsie said, looking pleadingly up at Beryl._

_"Of course I will, if that's what you want." Beryl said, hovering in the doorway to Elsie's bedroom. They'd managed to walk back to the Carson's cottage, making a few stops along the way to sit on various benches and one particularly large rock along the estate, and Her Ladyship had giddily rung for Dr. Clarkson._

_"You'd think she were the one having the baby!" Mrs. Patmore laughed as she bustled around the cottage, "The look on 'er face!"_

_Elsie smiled, "Everyone gets excited about babies."_

_"Hardly they do!" She came to the edge of Elsie's bed, "Can I bring you a glass o' water, love? Tea?"_

_Elsie shifted uncomfortably, reaching behind her to readjust her pillows, "I don't know — where is Charles?"_

_"He's in Ripon with His Lordship, they'll be back by luncheon."_

_"Oh, luncheon — Beryl, you can't stay here, you've got to finish—"_

_"No, no, it's all right. I'd mostly finished anyway—besides even if they muss it up it's not as though Her Ladyship's going to eat anything — she's too excited, bouncin' about all willy-nilly."_

_Elsie grimaced, shifting on the bed again, "Help me up, would you? I don't want to lie around here like a mare—"_

_"Are you in a lot of pain, then?"_

_Elsie sighed, "Not the worst of it—soon enough." Beryl helped her rise from the bed and steadied her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "I think perhaps I'll have a cuppa — keep my strength up."_

_They meandered into the kitchen just as Carson came bursting through the front door — both women jumped, Elsie reaching out for Beryl's arm._

_"Are you all right?" He asked breathlessly, coming into the room before he'd even take off his hat. Elsie gave Beryl a look,_

_"I'm fine, Charles — are _you_?"_

_He studied her a moment, then looked at Beryl somewhat perplexed. "We arrived back from Ripon and the house was atwitter with the word — Her Ladyship could hardly contain herself."_

_Beryl rolled her eyes, "You'd think Mrs. Carson here's having the next soverign of England."_

_Carson reached up and removed his hat, holding it against his chest. He walked over and took Elsie's hand, "You're all right?"_

_"Yes, I'm fine — I could use a spot o' tea, though."_

_Beryl took her cue and pushed past them to the kitchen, "I'll fix it for you . Why don't you go get comfortable— if you can."_

_Charles looked at Elsie expectantly, "What —what should I do?"_

_"I'm not sure," Elsie shrugged, "I suppose you could warm me some toast?"_

* * *

_"Robert—Robert! There you are." Cora said, prancing into his dressing room. He turned, adjusting his waistcoat, and raised his eyebrows at her._

_"Cora, love, what is it?"_

_"Hughes is having her baby — " she beamed, "I've rung for Dr. Clarkson."_

_"Ah, I see." Robert said, "And who will look after you until she returns?"_

_Cora's mouth fell open, "I — well, I'm not sure, the head housemaid I would presume — but aren't you terribly excited?"_

_Robert blinked, "I wouldn't say terribly so, no."_

_"Oh Robert," Cora frowned, "You care for Carson — he's like an old friend to you — aren't you even a little bit curious to see what he'll do now that he's to become a father?"_

_Considering this, Robert lowered himself down onto his bed. He really hadn't thought of it at all until just this moment. "I suppose. Carson's a good chap, isn't he?" He ran his hand through his hair, "Though, I can't imagine it will be easy to take on the responsibility of butler at Downton and raise a child."_

_Cora glided over to the bed, sitting down beside him, "His father did it, didn't he?"_

_Robert sighed, "I suppose you'd have to ask Carson — I don't think his father was very much—a father."_

_Cora frowned, "Carson's very kind — and Hughes, of course, she'll be a wonderful mother. You've seen how natural she is with Sybil."_

_Robert gave her a small smile, "Yes—and we _do_ owe her for our good fortune with her, don't we?" He leaned over and kissed Cora's cheek, "Will Carson be sure to let us know when the baby's arrived?"_

_Cora nodded eagerly, "Mrs. Patmore's gone over to their cottage, I'm sure she'll have all the details."_

_"Mrs. Pat—the cook? What are we to do about luncheon?"_

_"I'm sure it'll be fine, Robert." she said, placing her hand on his cheek, "Babies are much more rare an occurrence than luncheons."_

_He forced a smile, not entirely reassured, and returned to the letter he'd been attending to when she'd come in._

_"Who's that a letter from?" Cora asked, sitting down on the settee._

_"Rosamund," he said, lifting the note closer to his face. "She's asked about the girls, of course. She's hoping to come for Christmas."_

_Cora sighed, fingering one of her perfume bottles, "It's awfully good of her to come — I know it's such a terribly hard time of year for her. But the girl's look forward to seeing her so much."_

_Robert sighed, "Yes, well — I think she'd prefer it to being alone."_

_"I can't believe it's been nearly five years since..." She sighed, "Poor Marmaduke. It feels as though he was just here—"_

_"I suppose she'd agree — I'd wager it feels even longer a time for her."_

_"Do you think she'll ever remarry, Robert? She's so young. It would be such a shame for her to be alone —" She didn't look up at him — the totality of the word — _forever_—hung in the air. Robert brushed it away with his hand, folding the letter up and tucking it into his breast pocket._

_"Dear Rosamund has always done exactly as she pleases, despite anyone's pleas. I've no doubt that if she wants to marry again one day, she will." He came up behind Cora and rested a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him from beneath her eye lashes._

_"But if not?"_

_Robert chuckled sadly, "Then she won't"_

* * *

"Well, look at you gigglemugs." Elsie said, leaning up against the doorway, her arms folded and a sly smile across her face. Charles looked up from the table — where he'd taken a seat, Aoife upon his knee. Mrs. Patmore was still kneading bread against the table, her face red — but her eyes glinted as she saw Elsie.

"Have a sit, I'll throw a few things in a basket for you to take home."

Elsie stepped into the kitchen, waving Mrs. Patmore off. "No, lass, you're busy as a bee — we can fend for ourselves." She looked down at Charles and Aoife, "Are you ready? Shall we go home?"

"We haven't finished the story!" Aoife said, looking up at Charles.

"It's not as if you don't know how it ends, love." Mrs. Patmore said exasperatedly. She shook her head at Elsie, "You'd think she remembers it herself, how many times she's heard it."

"What story is that?" Elsie said, walking over to the table. She stood behind Charles, placing one hand on his shoulder, her thumb caressing his neck.

"Aoife was telling us the story of her grand entrance into the mortal coil!" Charles bellowed, bouncing Aoife on his knee.

"Oh, I know that one." Elsie said. Aoife reached up and gently touched her mother's face, and Elsie turned to kiss her daughter's fingers. "That's one of my favorites."

"Mine too," Beryl said, hefting a bread tin into her arms and heading over to the stove, "One of the most blessed nights of my life, that was."

"Ma, tell me." Aoife said, reaching for Elsie. She came around the other side of them and lifted Aoife from Charles' lap, the soft weight delightful in her arms. Charles reached over to pull the chair next to him out from the table and she sat down.

Looking over Aoife's head at Charles, she sighed wistfully, "And unto us, a child was born."

* * *

_"Charles Carson if you don't stop your pacing I'll banish you from this bedroom until the child is weaned!" Elsie huffed — though she was pacing about the cottage herself, she had ample reason to. Try as she might she couldn't get comfortable on the bed. Dr. Clarkson would be arriving any moment and though she knew she ought to be, she couldn't be convinced to lie down. Charles, overwhelemed and concerned, followed her around as she paced, herding her into the bedroom like a shetland sheepdog._

_"Shouldn't you be — on the bed, Elsie?" He said, wringing his hands, "Isn't that how — you—" His words failed him — he didn't know the first thing about what was about to transpire in this room, and he was wise enough to close his mouth before he was accused of supposing he did._

_"Stop keekin' at me, Charles!" Elsie moaned, pressing her palm against the wall._

_Charles just stared at her — as soon as the Gaelic of her youth began to flow from her mouth, he knew he was in trouble. He held his hands up in surrender, "I'll gladly cease keeking at you if you tell me what it means for one to keek!"_

_Dropping her hand and instead pressing them against her lower back, Elsie shook her head apologetically, "I'm sorry — I'm a bit radge."_

_He blinked, "It's — well, it's all right. What should I do — or I should say, what would you like for me to do?"_

_Elsie exhaled sharply, "Sit doon 'n' haud yer wheesht!"_

_Baffled, and no closer to understanding what she was saying, Charles lowered himself onto the bed, his mouth still agape. She turned to him, one hand coming up to press against her forehead, "Shut yer geggy, Charles."_

_Managing to translate, he quickly snapped his mouth closed with a dull clink of his teeth. He watched as she took a few steps into the room, hands at the small of her back. She'd barely made it a foot across the room before her body stiffened, curving over in a twist of pain. He felt like a fool._

_"Closer together aren't they?" Beryl said, coming into the room — a tea tray in hand and a few cloths draped over her arm. She set the tea tray down and threw one of the damp rags over her shoulder, taking the other in her hand and approaching Elsie. She helped her to straighten up and dabbed at her temples._

_Elsie sighed gratefully. "Aye — has Dr. Clarkson come yet?"_

_Beryl shook her head, "Where's the pain now — in yer back, still?"_

_Elsie nodded, "Aye, — I cannae sit, lie doon —" Her hand reached out to grip Beryl's forearm. "I don't think I'd be relieved if I were dead."_

_Charles looked up at her in horror, but when he saw Mrs. Patmore laugh and wrap an arm round Elsie, he relaxed a bit._

_"If the baby's leaning back than you've to lean forward." Beryl said as walked over to the bed and grabbed one of the afghans, spreading it out in front of the fireplace, which smoldered. "Now get down on all fours,"_

_Elsie looked at her incredulously, but Beryl just shrugged, "Or you can stay upright and ache — suit yourself."_

_Charles looked up at them both — of course, neither woman looked to him, it was almost as though they'd forgotten he was there at all. Finally, heaving a sigh, Elsie acquiesced and started to bunch up the skirt of her nightdress._

_"Come on then, Mr. Carson, help her down." Beryl said, gesturing to him. Feeling relieved at having something to do, he leapt up and raced over, taking one arm as Beryl took Elsie's other. "Easy does it," she cooed, and together they lowered Elsie down onto her knees. She looked up at Beryl, her face flushing._

_"I'd think you a wench for this if you weren't so good to me, Beryl Patmore."_

_Beryl laughed, "When have I ever led you astray, love?"_

_That was evidence enough for Charles, but Elsie still seemed a bit hesitant as she walked her hands forward, her belly — taut with a contraction—shifting with her. Beryl walked around to the front of her and produced a feather pillow from the bed, which she offered for Elsie to rest her forearms on. She stepped back and waited. After a moment, Elsie looked up at Beryl, her face relaxed and glowing._

_"My God," she said, "How did you know that'd work?"_

_Beryl shrugged, "Same thing happened to my sister — you just have to move about and get the babe to move off a bit." She turned to Charles, "Go on then, get down there—put a little counter-pressure on her lower back."_

_Charles blinked, "I — on the floor?"_

_"No, Mr. Carson, on the ceiling." Beryl said, rolling her eyes. From the blanket, Elsie chuckled. The sound of it calmed Charles immensely._

_"Charles, if it's too much for you why don't you step outside and see if Dr. Clarkson's here." Elsie said, exhaling smoothly, "I'll be all right."_

_He nodded, grateful for permission to leave — he didn't quite know what to do with himself and he supposed that his tension in the room was palpable._

_"Well, you're in good hands — I'll—I'll just be outside. If you need me."_

_Beryl came over and took his hand, patting it affectionately. "You're doing all right, Mr. Carson—but help yourself to a little air, would ya?"_

_He took his hand from her and nodded as he headed for the door, closing it softly behind him. When he'd gone, Elsie groaned loudly from the floor. Turning to look down at her, Beryl raised her eyebrows._

_"He got outta here in two shakes of a lamb's tail, didn't he?" She laughed, hiking up her skirts and kneeling down next to Elsie, "Men sure like us to think we need them — but sometimes we're better off when they're tucked up in a corner somewhere, outta the way."_

_Elsie looked up at her and smiled, "I'm glad you're here — and I know he is too."_

_Beryl pet Elsie's back, "If he thinks he is now just wait 'till Dr. Clarkson gets here and we have to get that baby out."_

* * *

_Charles had, perhaps, never been so relieved to see Dr. Clarkson, his leather satchel in hand, coming up over the hill to their cottage. He practically scurried out the door to greet him._

_"Well, hello Mr. Carson." He said, tipping his hat, "How are things?"_

_"Well —I'm not sure, entirely, Dr. Clarkson. I think they're—well, as to be expected. Mrs. Patmore has come up from the big house — she's with her now—"_

_"Ah, left the Crawleys to fend for themselves?" Dr. Clarkson joked, nudging Carson. Charles swallowed, having not considered that._

_"Oh — well, I hope she hasn't left them in a lurch — though, I'm terribly relieved that she's here, you see—I haven't —which is to say, I don't know—"_

_Dr. Clarkson laughed, his brogue as thick as Elsie's had been earlier, "Mr. Carson, calm down. I was joshing you. I should have thought better on it — nothing so fragile as the nerves of a new father."_

_Leading Dr. Clarkson into their cottage, he rounded the corner to their bedroom and stood somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, allowing the doctor to go in first — and questioning whether or not he should follow him._

_"Mrs. Carson —Mrs. Patmore, a pleasure to see you."_

_"And you, Dr. Clarkson." Beryl smiled, struggling to push herself up from the floor. Dr. Clarkson knelt down, replacing her beside Elsie — who turned and gave him a sheepish grin._

_"I know I ought have been in bed, Dr. Clarkson." She said, her voice hushed. Her hands curled into fists and she inhaled, a contraction interrupting her._

_Dr. Clarkson rested a hand on her lower back, which made Charles bristle, though he wasn't sure precisely why. "I am only to assume you are suffering from what we call back labor, Mrs. Carson."_

_"Oh — is that what they call it?" She said, throwing him a look._

_Dr. Clarkson laughed apologetically. "Yes, I suppose it's rather obvious by this juncture — would you mind if I took a look, see how things are progressing?"_

_"I've to get up on the bed, then?"_

_"I'm afraid so — it's easier for me to examine you that way."_

_"Easier for him," Beryl huffed, "God forbid a woman make a man's life any more difficult than it need to be."_

_Settling Elsie onto the bed, she almost immediately began to cry out, the change in position resuming her previous level of pain which was only worsened by the doctor's intrusive physical exam. Charles stood in the far corner of the room, blanched._

_Noticing Elsie's sudden paleness, Dr. Clarkson leaned down, "Ah — bit peely-walley?"_

_She nodded, grasping the bedsheets, "Aye — right coupin' like this — cannae get doon again?"_

_Mrs. Patmore turned to Carson, "I guess it's a good thing Dr. Clarkson's Scottish — I've half a mind to throw me hands up when she gets on like this, talking like she's out on the moors."_

_Charles couldn't help but laugh — it certainly was good luck that the country doctor happened to hail from the same country as his wife — what with her penchant for lapsing into her mother tongue when she was riled up._

_Dr. Clarkson sighed, "Forgive me, Mrs. Carson, but I hold you to a much higher standard than that — common women give birth that way, and you're far more a lady—"_

_Mrs. Patmore steamed, "Well, pardon me Dr. Clarkson, I didn't realize Mrs. Carson was sitting for her coronation portrait." She huffed, "I thought she was having a baby!"_

_Charles shot his hand out to stifle her, "Mrs. Patmore, please."_

_"No, I won't stand for any lip from him. If she's hurtin' laying there like that what harm is it gonna do her to find something more comfortable? It's not like the whole town's going to see her push this baby out!"_

_Taken aback, Charles once again found himself feeling a bit gormless. He clapped his mouth shut and looked down at Mrs. Patmore, who was staring at Dr. Clarkson daringly._

_"I don't mean to insult anyone," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Charles, as if to explain further. "In medicine there are rules — protocols—as there would be in running a house, such as Downton. Now, to some extent we can make exceptions when it's fitting to do so, but Mrs. Carson is progressing well, and other than being in pain — which is to be expected — there's nothing to worry about. I don't forsee any complications and expect she will have a rather uneventful course."_

_"Uneventful for you—"_

_"Mrs. Patmore, that's quite enough." Charles coughed, "I understand, Dr. Clarkson — I know you didn't mean to say anything to make us cross."_

_Seething, Mrs. Patmore tightened her lips around her teeth and stormed out of the room. A few moments later they could hear her banging around in the kitchen — presumably the way the cook always blew off steam after a row._

_Elsie reached up a hand to Charles, who hesitated to cross the room to take it. He looked to Dr. Clarkson for permission._

_"You recall that His Lordship was present for Lady Sybil's birth." He said, opening up his leather bag, "It's become far more common for the father's to attend the births — in fact, the last of Queen Victoria's children were all born in the presence of Prince Albert."_

_Charles nodded, taking a few soft steps across the floor. Elsie looked up from the bed, her face contored into a grimace, and he felt his chest burn._

_"Hold my hand, would you?" She said quietly, her voice strained. He lowered himself onto the bed and took her clammy hand between both of his. She relaxed a bit in his presence, and Dr. Clarkson returned to her bedside, a monaural stethoscope in his hand. He pressed the wider end gently against Elsie's belly, pressing his ear to the other and listening a moment._

_"Och," she said, hissing through her teeth. She wrapped her fingers around Charles' hand and gripped it until he was quite certain she'd staunched any blood flow to the extremity at all. Charles looked down at her gravely; while he understood it was, as they say, Eve's curse for childbirth to be painful, it certainly didn't mean he wanted it to be so. Not where his wife was concerned._

_Dr. Clarkson studied Elsie's face for a moment and then beckoned Charles away from the bed and led him to a far corner of the room._

_"Mr. Carson, I think I may have something to offer her to help offset the pain — it was used quite widely by Queen Victoria in her later pregnancies and we've seen quite a bit of success with it in city hospitals. I don't mean to boast but the physician who discovered it was Scottish himself."_

_Charles perked up, "Oh — well, what is it?"_

_"It's a chemical — something that she can breath in. It's called chloroform. It's somewhat like anesthesia."_

_"Anesthesia — but, wouldn't that put her to sleep?"_

_"Not entirely," Dr. Clarkson explained, "She would be, perhaps, a bit discombobulated, but she would feel marked improvement in her pain. And she would still be able to converse with us."_

_"And it's safe?"_

_"As long as the dosage is correct. It's not so much a concern of safety, Mr. Carson, as it is — religious tolerance."_

_Charles furrowed his brow, "I don't know what you mean."_

_"The clergy are quite against it — they believe, of course, that it is a woman's duty, the curse of Eve, to experience pain during childbirth. Now, from a medical perspective, I'd have to say I disagree — but I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries and presume that I would be allowed to go against your religious beliefs. In situations such as this we do usually let the husband have the final say."_

_Charles stuttered, "I see—well, neither of us is Catholic. I don't think she'd think it sacreligious. She'd be more concerned that it would harm the child."_

_"I can assure you — with careful monitoring, no harm will come to her or the baby."_

_Charles looked over Dr. Clarkson's shoulder to the bed. Mrs. Patmore had returned and was holding Elsie's hand, wiping her face with a wet cloth. Even from across the room he could hear her low moans, a discordant hum that almost made the floors shake._

_"Very well, Dr. Clarkson. If it is safe — and you think she would be more comfortable—I suppose I can allow you to proceed."_

* * *

"Thank heavens for that," Elsie mused. She looked down at Aoife, who had fallen fast asleep in her arms listening to the tale of her birth. Elsie hushed her quietly, leaning her cheek against her daughter's soft hair.

"I still think you'd have been better off listening to me," Mrs. Patmore said, reaching for the kettle she'd put on which had begun to whistle demandingly, "I think, if you'd done as I suggested, you wouldn't have needn't it at all."

"But it was marvelous," Elsie crooned, "Makes you feel like you haven't a care in the world."

Mrs. Patmore scoffed, bringing the kettle over to the table to refill the teapot, "Might that have just been the joy of a beautiful baby?"

Elsie looked over at Charles, who had been watching her intently. She blinked away from his gaze, kissing Aoife's hair softly.

"Aye — that too."

* * *

_Charles stood on the opposite side of the bedroom door, his ear pressed up against the wood. As soon as Elsie had started to push, she'd demanded he leave — though her pain had subsided somewhat from the dose of chloroform — a damp cloth pressed over her nose and mouth—she became quite suddenly wracked with the realization that she wasn't certain she wanted him to see her so indisposed._

_He opened the door just a crack and looked inside — Mrs. Patmore was at the head of the bed, holding Elsie's arm, and Dr. Clarkson sat at the far end, his hand under the sheet of the bed. His other hand rested atop her belly, his gaze steadily holding hers._

_"Good work, old girl. Go on then, give us another."_

_Elsie sat up on her elbows and brayed, huffing out a few short breaths._

_"Nicely done." Dr. Clarkson commended, patting her stomach, "Take a good breath and give us one more —"_

_Elsie turned to Mrs. Patmore who flapped the rag of chloroform over her face, letting her have a drag on it before pulling it away. As she did, Elsie's head lolled to the side and she saw the crack in the door — her eyes met Charles'._

_"Charles," she mouthed, her hand pushing the rag away. Mrs. Patmore followed her gaze to the doorway and grinned when she saw Charles standing there._

_"Come in then, Mr. Carson." She said, "You haven't missed it."_

_He pushed the door open slowly and it creaked — the sound of it roused Elsie and she reached for him, rallying for the last efforts required of her. Dr. Clarkson wiggled his hand under the covers again and nodded to them._

_"All right then — this one ought to do it,"_

_She gave Charles a look— was it excitement, love? The glimmer in her eyes was like the way she had looked at him that first night, when he'd swept her up into his arms and carried her across the threshhold. It was the way she'd looked at him that day, in her bedroom, looking for a devilish little mouse. A little mouse that led them to a stolen kiss . . ._

_He felt his eyes sting with tears and though he was humiliated to think he might be crying, in the next moment he could do nothing to stop the tears from coming._

_In the quiet of the room, the small cry of a baby rose up — echoed by Elsie's soft whimpering beside him. He turned his head to see Dr. Clarkson placing the squalling infant onto Elsie's chest — a girl, her eyes wide and blue like her mother's — and a sprig of red hair atop her head._

_"Oh, she's beautiful — look at her hair!" Mrs. Patmore cried, her own tears freely flowing as she pat Elsie's hand. Elsie freed her arms up to reach down and gently touch the baby's skin. Almost as if the infant knew her touch at once, her tiny hand reached out and clamped round her mother's finger._

_Elsie mewled, looking up at Charles. "Look what we've done," She marveled, tipping the babe in her arms so that Charles could better see her face._

_He beamed, shaking his head rather in disbelief. There she was; his daughter, a perfect amalgam of his full pout and her mother's eyes._

_"Aoife —it means radiant." Elsie said, "Shall we call her Aoife?"_

_He said the name quietly to himself, his heart skipping in his chest. There were no words for the moment and he felt no need to give it any. Instead, he watched as the baby nuzzled against Elsie's chest, rooting for her breast. His wife's long, elegant fingers brushed the tufts of auburn hair atop the baby's head and he shyly placed his hand—which seemed unspeakably large now—over hers. She laced her fingers through his, gripping them tightly, and as he leaned down to kiss her, he felt her supple lips spread into a smile against his._

* * *

"Oh, time passes on quickly, it does." Mrs. Patmore said, yanking the now toasty loaf of bread from the oven, "I can't hardly believe how big she's gotten — look at her! Seems like just yesterday you were walking around the kitchen with her nestled on your shoulder and swaddled in one of me sister's afghans."

Elsie sighed, her cheek pressed against Aoife's head. She slept soundly against her chest, her long legs dangling off the edge of Elsie's lap. "She's growing like a weed, she is."

Charles stifled a yawn and took out his pocket watch. He squinted at it.

"Shall we go home, then? Get the little cherub to bed?"

Elsie stood, hoisting Aoife up with her. She turned to Beryl, "Thank you kindly for the story hour, Mrs. Patmore."

She smiled, wrapping a warm loaf of bread up and placing it into a small wicker hand basket, "Oh, you know I love that girl like she was my own." She said, nodding toward Aoife, "Here, take one of these home for your tea- semolina this time."

She passed the basket across Elsie to Charles, the sweet smell rising up and making her realize just how hungry she was. She thanked Beryl and she and Charles stepped out into the night. She tightened her grasp around Aoife, covering her daughter's ear with her hand to keep out the cold chill in the air. Charles walked next to her, the basket over his arm, and as they made their way up the hill to their cottage, he placed one hand at the small of her back.

"Charles, I think we ought to have Aoife schooled in the village." She said, the frostbitten ground crunching beneath her feet. It was autumn and though proper snowfall was still many weeks away, they had already seen a frost or two, the earth heaving up in tiny hills along the path they walked each day.

"What's brought this on?" He said, sniffing against the cold.

"I overheard the young ladies during their lessons today — Lady Mary's got the idea in her head, and rightfully so I suppose, that she'll be Countess of Grantham one day."

"I don't see the trouble with that — she's certainly not mistaken."

"Well, perhaps not but she's taken to convincing Aoife that _she's _to be her Lady's Maid."

"Elsie, I'm sure it's merely child's play. I hardly think young Lady Mary is capable of making any such suggestion out of offense."

Biting her lip — which had already grown dry against the cold night air—Elsie placed her thoughts carefully. "I'm not so sure it's all so innocent, Charles. Lady Mary's got Aoife trained to wait on her hand and foot and Aoife calls her m'lady."

"I'm sure they're only playing, Elsie. I don't think you need to get quite so tightly wound over it."

Elsie stopped, "Well I _am_, Charles."

He sighed, "What do you propose for a solution? Send her to school in the village, then?" He huffed, "How do you suggest we orchestrate such a schedule — with both of us being up and our presence required at the big house at dawn I hardly see how it would be possible for her to get into the village for her lessons."

Elsie pursed her lips — she hadn't considered the logistics of such a proposal, but now that the conversation had started her mind filled instantly. "I don't think it would be impossible — not between the two of us."

Scoffing, Charles straightened his back, "It would be up to you, Elsie. As I have agreed to take on the position of Butler at Downton Abbey I can hardly go back on my word — nor would I want to. As you know that will leave the bulk of the child-rearing to you." He cocked his head slightly, "As it ought to be, seeing that you are the child's mother."

She stepped back, covering Aoife's head with hers, almost as though she'd been slapped. He was hardly wrong to say it, but something in his voice made her recoil in disgust. Had he never considered that she, too, worked hard and sought advancement in her position at Downton? Had it ceased to matter to him once she succeeded in bearing him a child — had her aspirations ever mattered at him at all?

"Are you implying that I ought to leave service?"

He threw his hands up, "It seems like the only solution."

"Hardly is! We could hire someone to come on, a governess."

Charles tutted, "Hire someone? With all our_ lagniappe_ income? Last time I checked our ledgers—"

She took a daring step toward him, her voice edged, "Oh — that last time _you_checked our ledgers — and when was that, Charles Carson? You know right well I keep track of our accounts — even before we were married! Half the time the only reason I talked to you back then was to check _your_ ledgers._"_

Even in the shadow of the path she could see his eyes narrow at her. Charles Carson was not a hateful man, but when provoked, he had a temper that could cut sharper than a knife — and leave just as jagged a scar. He didn't speak, he just stared her down — which she took on as a challenge to continue, throwing him another jab.

"Did it ever cross yer mind that _I_ might want to advance at Downton as well? That I came to Downton for another reason other than to be _seduced _by you over a sherry glass?"

"You won't speak to me that way—"

"Won't I, Mr. Carson? Ever since I gave you a bairn it's as though you've forgotten who I am — I am _Elsie Hughes_. I came to Downton Abbey to be Lady's Maid to the Countess of Grantham. I am good at my work, and valued by the Crawley family — so much as you, even if I wasn't running around downstairs when I was still in nappies —" Aoife began to stir in her arms in response to her mother's raised voice. Without missing a word of her speech, Elsie's hand came up to soothe the child back to sleep, "Perhaps I want to be _housekeeper _— did ye ever think of that?"

"Perhaps you did — but now you've a child to think of—"

"_I've_ a child!" She said, "_I've_ a child and_ you've_ a career in service to nurture, is that it?"

He didn't speak for a moment, just raised his chin and looked up at the night sky — an endless canvas of stars, the punctured darkness and tiny points of light seeming to loom maliciously above them.

"I've a family to support — just as my father did."

Elsie's lips curled up into a sarcastic grin. "Just like your father, aye? Must be why you reminisce about him in such _fond _terms — how he'd knock you upside the head for slouching, aye? A swift kick in the arse for giving cheek?" She was breathing heavily now, her voice rising, "How he'd slap your poor Ma clean across her pretty face if she didn't have dinner on the table when he come home from the big house at night, expecting to be waited on hand and food after she'd spent all day waitin' on everybody else!"

Her hair had begun to come undone, and she blew it out of her face as she turned away from him, heading down the path. "God help us both, child, if his aim is to be his _father."_

* * *

Elsie lowered Aoife into her bed and tucked the covers tight around her. Love blossomed in her chest whenever she looked at the child; it had since the moment she'd first set eyes on her. It was a love that she knew was special between mother and child, and while she revered it, there was still an aching need in her to be — something more. While the noble work of raising children was, supposedly, the answer to this need, she felt somehow incomplete — it was what made her so cruel and defensive with Charles. The guilt, at times, consumed her — and if not consumed, then transformed her into a bitter woman — and she knew, a bitter mother. She tried to push it from her mind because it shamed her deeply. Her poor mother would be grief-stricken to think she had raised a girl who would ever feel so unfulfilled by marriage and children. And what about the Crawleys, who had been so generous to her and Charles? Making allowances for them — was she ungrateful? It pained her to think that Lady Grantham would think her taking advantage of her kindness, her generosity — her _faith._

She pulled the bedcovers up and tucked them beneath Aoife's chin. She moved to get up from the bed, but felt Aoife's hand reach for her. Lowering herself back down, she closed her eyes, humming a soft lullaby under her breath as she coiled a strand of Aoife's hair around her finger.

And Charles — _oh, her sweet man._ What would he think of her now? She blinked, feeling hot tears fall against her cheeks. She'd said such cruel things to him— and with no reason. He'd only told her the truth, hadn't he? Her expectations, her desires were the perverse ones, not his.

She heard the front door close — he'd returned. Her stomach lurched. Without even taking her coat off, she crawled under the covers next to Aoife, wrapping the child in her arms. Even in sleep, the girl instinctively burrowed into Elsie's embrace, her tiny snores rising up into the quiet room. Elsie cried softly, praying she wouldn't wake her, and turned towards the window. By the time Charles pushed Aoife's bedroom door open, she'd finally cried herself to sleep.

* * *

He didn't want to wake her, certainly not disturb _Aoife _at such a late hour, but the hurt was still raw that he couldn't allow her to fade away from him, not this time. Not after what she'd said. Did she really believe it? Think him capable of being the tyrant that his father had been? It nearly sickened him to think it — to think that she was sitting idly by waiting for the day he grabbed Aoife's arm a little too rough, or whipped the back of his hand across her face. His throat burned — he wasn't that man and he never would be, but what did it matter if she didn't believe it?

He pushed the door open, it's creaking announcing him before his footfalls. Sitting at the foot of the bed, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder, shaking her ever so slightly to coax her from her sleep. She startled, looking over her shoulder at him, wide-eyed in the dark.

"Come to bed," he said gently. She balked at first, but as he slid his hand along her shoulder to her neck and up to cup her face in his, she nodded and quietly slid out of Aoife's bed.

They walked wordlessly from her bedroom to theirs, Charles turning down the gas lamps along the way. She stood shivering in the dark, watching as he carefully shut the door to their room, uncertain if he was ready to turn and face her. Her tears came again, and she shuddered out a breath. At the sound, he went to her, pulling her tightly against him. Relief flooded through her and she wept against his chest. He pushed her away, gripping her by the shoulders. Imploring her with his gaze, his mouth hunted for words momentarily before smashing into hers, kissing her hard. She reached up and held his head against her, desperate to feel him. He pushed her back toward the bed, fumbling to nudge his hand up beneath her skirt.

As she fell against the covers, she whimpered—a sound somewhere between grief and pleasure—and he ran a hand up her thigh and unhooked her garter, his thumb running along the curve of her hipbone. She reached down and grabbed his wrist, and for a moment he demurred, thinking that she didn't want him — but when she had his hand in hers, she brought it between her thighs and pressed it firmly against them. He looked up to find her gaze, but her eyes were tightly closed, tears hovering in the corners of them. Leaning up, he kissed them away, and she rose up to meet his mouth again, her breath unsteady as she cried.

He laced his fingers around her knickers and pulled them down, letting them fall to the floor. One hand bracing his weight against the bed, he used the other to undo his belt and push down his slacks, which fell between his legs and the bed, left to wrinkle. As he held himself above her, she let her eyes flutter open. They were the bluest when they were wet, and though he hated to see her cry, he was nonetheless stunned by their incandescence. He scouted her face, searching it for a glimmer of hope as he joined with her — and her soft exhalation, the way that her body welcomed him, pacified him for the moment_. _He rocked smoothly against her, and she writhed beneath him, her arms lacing around his neck and pulling him down, pressing his head tightly against her breast. He kissed their fullness, the silk of her skin pressed against his stubbly cheeks — he instinctively pulled his face back, not wanting to scratch her.

He felt a low moan rise up in her chest, and he let the sound carry him until they both road along the crest of his release. She bucked, her entire body tensing against him; the small whinny in her voice which he knew was her call of felicity bringing him to a deep sigh. She held him tight against her as they gulped for breath; she inhaling his exhalations until they were together in synchronous respirations, a lover's chorus.

Glimmering with sleepy lust, she blinked the remaining tears from her eyes and ran her fingers through his hair. He lifted his face from her chest and regarded her a moment before gently kissing the upturned corners of her mouth.

"Do you know how fine you are to me, Charles Carson?" She purred, hooking her finger onto his bottom lip. He reached up and clasped her hand turning his face to kiss it. He held her cool fingers against his mouth and, from somewhere deep within him, bubbled up a quiet sob.

"I don't know how to fix this," He said quietly, holding her hand against his cheek, "Which—is a prospect I find terrifying."

"Oh, Charles" She murmured, wiping his tears away with her thumbs as she held his face.

"My father wouldn't have _either_—" He said, his voice hushed, "And I think perhaps that's what terrifies me the most."

"You are not your father," She implored, "I am so ashamed of my words. I was so wrong to say those things—"

"I don't think you were, I think it was a warning. One that I would be wise to heed."

"Charles," She squeaked, "You aren't your father. You won't be, ever, I know that. I know you'd die before you'd hurt me — or Aoife—the way that he hurt you." She let her finger grace his earlobe, caressing it lightly between her thumb and forefinger.

"I don't know what to do, Elsie." He said, "I've — I've let you down."

"No, you haven't — you haven't let me down, Charles."

"I — I just want Aoife to have a good life."

"Oh, but she _does _Charles— and she will. "

"Perhaps," he said, swallowing his tears, "I've confused having a good life with — having an esteemed one."

Elsie softened, kissing his forehead before pulling him down to her chest. He cried quietly against her as she stroked his hair lightly.

"I think you've just spent your whole life worrying about what makes the_Crawley's_ happy, what _their _life has demanded, trying to anticipate their every need and whim. You're spent all these years playing by their rules, by your father's rules, so you wouldn't have to hurt." She kissed his hair, "But what makes _you _happy, Charles?"

"I'm not sure I've ever known."

She softened, "But you have, Charles. You can't tell me that polishing silver is more appealing to you than seeing that little girl smile when she looks up and sees her Da's come home. That you'd rather puzzle over a wine decanter than watch that little lass puddle jumping in the garden —"

"I — Elsie, I don't know. I feel caught between —"

She sighed, "So do I."

"You do?"

Elsie nodded, pulling herself out from underneath him. She sighed, tucking her legs up under her and rubbing her tired eyes on the heel of her hands.

"I've been sick with worry over it. Thinking myself so damnable for wanting anything more than you — than Aoife."

"I know your work is important to you. It's one of the reasons I feel in love with you, in fact." He leaned over, needing to touch her again. He placed his hand on her thigh and caressed it gently as he spoke, "Your capability, dedication, your finesse — it marvels me still. I nearly couldn't work up the nerve to ask you to marry me, knowing how much you loved—_love_—your work."

"I love _you_, Charles. You mustn't ever doubt that."

"As I you — but how do we reconcile between our love and our duty—our purpose?"

She shrugged, brushing a cowlick off his forehead, "I don't know, love."

He sighed, running his fingers along her forearm, feeling the gooseflesh it gave her. "I never meant to suggest that you — that you should be satisfied_merely_ by your position as Aoife's mother." He said, his eyes falling to his lap. He pulled his hand away from her. "If you — if you want to be Housekeeper, you ought to be. I think you'd be marvelous at it."

She smiled, "Thank you for that."

"I mean it, Elsie. Your aspiration is not out of reach."

"Well, maybe it wasn't when I was _younge__r_ but —"

He shot her a look, "It wasn't then and it's not now. We'll manage. Whatever happens, we'll manage."

She reached out, taking his hand back and squeezing it gently. "You're a wonderful father—you do know that, don't you Charles?"

He shrugged, "I would hope to be."

She crawled across the bed and cuddled against him. He enveloped her in his arms and let his chin rest atop her head. They both sighed contentedly. Outside, a lonesome cicada sang through the cold wind. No doubt it would succumb to the frost by morning, but for the moment, the lilting sound of its spirit was tantamount to the din of two lovers holding one another tenderly against the void of night; with only the promise of daybreak to still their disquietude.

* * *

The room was warm with early sunlight and like a flower, Elsie found herself turning toward the window even in half-sleep. Charles' musky morning scent tickled her nose and she smiled to herself.

Suddenly there was a large crash of metal from outside their bedroom door, and both of them shot up from the bed, each stumbling over one another to reach for their dressing gowns. In his haste and still-slumbering mind, Charles managed to slip on Elsie's — which barely fit across his bare shoulders—and she was left to wrap an afghan around her, barely covering the chemise she wore beneath. He threw open the door to their bedroom and charged out into the hallway. She scurried behind him, their bare feet thudding against the hardwood. They rounded the corner into the kitchen, toward the sound, and both exhaled in relief when they saw Aoife.

Wearing one of Elsie's aprons, miles to big for her, she stood atop a chair at the kitchen table. She wore a stern face, her arms wildly gesticulating, sending clouds of flour up into the air around her. It hovered, like dust, in the light through the kitchen window. Charles made to step in, to reprimand her, but Elsie reached out and stopped him, her hand upon his arm.

"Wait," she whispered, watching their daughter.

"It's _my _kitchen!" Aoife said to her imaginary league of scullery mades. She hadn't noticed her parents in the hall, and her game of make-believe was in full swing. "Now stop dilly-dallying and get to work on those pies!" She picked up a wooden spoon and stuck it into a bowl, filled with whatever she'd pulled out of the cupboards, "Oh for heaven's sake, Mirabel, you're making a pie not standin' afor Parliament!"

Charles stifled a laugh, "What—is she?"

Elsie's fingers came to her lips, hiding her smile, "Oh my. . ."

"Elsie, my dear, I don't think we have to worry about Aoife's game with Lady Mary." He slipped a hand onto her lower back, "Though, we may want to reconsider leaving her in Mrs. Patmore's charge."

They watched as Aoife stomped down from the chair and made her way over to the oven, pretending to open it. She tossed a rag over her shoulder and put her hands formidably on her hips. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her parents, and her stature shrunk with the anticipation of reprimend. She looked at them sheepishly.

"Good morning, Aoife." Elsie laughed, playfully crossing her arms. She stepped into the kitchen and surveyed: flour, sugar and a few broken eggs spattered the table top. As she moved closer, she saw that Aoife had a smear of butter on her cheek.

"You've been busy, looks like." Elsie said, leaning down to wipe the smidge from Aoife's cheek. "Is that Mirabel going to get her act together in time for luncheon?"

Realizing her mother was willing to play, Aoife's face lit up. "I don't know, Ma, she's impossible."

Elsie laughed, "Well, how about I lend you a hand— just tell me what's left to do. I'm no Mrs. Patmore but I can whip up a thing or two."

Aoife took Elsie's hand and lead her over to the table, chattering wildly. Elsie looked up and caught Charles' eye across the room. He smiled and, hands tucked thoughtfully behind his back, joined them in the kitchen.

"Mrs. Carson," He said — Elsie looked at him expectantly. He shook his head lightly, "No, darling, not you — our fine cook here."

Aoife looked up, smiling. "Yes, Mr. Carson?" She said, slapping her hands impatiently down on the table.

Carson tried to keep from laughing at his daughter's spot-on imitation of Mrs. Patmore's frequent annoyance with him. Perhaps Aoife could have a career on the stage with her clever antics.

"Shall I set the table?" He asked, straightening up and putting on his best butler voice. Aoife pursed her lips thoughtfully, then nodded.

"And you'd better get on it, Mr. Carson. Don't want to keep them waiting."

He bowed, giving Elsie a wink as he raised his head. Then, he turned and headed for the cupboard, pulling out their nicest china.

"Come here, love" Elsie said, reaching to retie Aoife's apron, which had begun to come undone. Aoife paused long enough for her mother to tie a knot, then turned toward her, the make-believe paused for the moment.

"Ma?" She whispered, "Can I cook in the big house when I'm growed up?"

"You can do _whatever_ you please, Aoife."

"I _know_ that," Aoife said, giving her mother bit of cheek, "But I don't want to be Lady's Maid." She curled her nose up.

"Oh no?" Elsie said, a bit taken-aback, "You don't want to be like your Ma?"

Aoife hugged Elsie around the waist, "I want to be pretty like you and wear big hats when we go to town, but I don't want to do Mary's hair."

Elsie looked up at Charles, who was standing next to the table, plates in hand. "But you wouldn't mind being in the kitchen? Cooking all day?"

"Not if I'm in charge," Aoife said, pressing her fists definitely against her hips, she turned back to Charles, pointing at him, "Hop to it, Mr. Carson."

Eyebrows flaring, Charles huffed out a laugh. "Straight away, Mrs. Carson." He threw Elsie a glance and she smiled back at him lovingly. Not quite ready to leave the previous night's conversation behind, she stepped around the table toward him, rising up on her tiptoes so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and press her lips against his ear.

"I think I fell in love with you again when you became her _Da, _you know. Sometimes you look at her and it's like you're seeing her for the first time — you get such a sweet face."

He smiled, hugging her closer to him. Looking over her shoulder, he chuckled at Aoife as she pressed her hands against the floured table; leaving tiny handprints behind. Perhaps she felt his gaze, as she lifted her chin, giving him a bright grin. He felt his heart tug; she looked more and more like Elsie every day.

Aoife turned back to her play and he held Elsie close, letting his eyes flutter closed. Around them he heard the rise of Aoife's giggles and outside, the low coo of a mourning dove. The sweet orchestra crescendoed around him as Elsie's soft sigh filled his ear. _How daft I am,_ he thought, _for thinking that home was a place with four walls and a stone floor._


End file.
